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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39062-8.txt b/39062-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f792a3a --- /dev/null +++ b/39062-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2335 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Last Lion and Other Tales, by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + +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/license + + +Title: The Last Lion and Other Tales + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + +Commentator: Mariano Joaquin Lorente + +Release Date: March 5, 2012 [EBook #39062] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + +INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY EDITED BY EDMUND R. BROWN + + + + + +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES + +BY VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ + +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY MARIANO JOAQUIN LORENTE + +BOSTON INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY + +_Copyright, 1919, by_ JOHN W. LUCE & COMPANY + +Reprinted by arrangement with John W. Luce & Company. All Rights +Reserved. + +First printing, 2,000 copies Second printing, 5,000 copies Third +printing, 10,000 copies + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC., +CLINTON, MASS. + + + + +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES + + + + +VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ + + +Don Vicente Blasco Ibáñez was born on the 29th of January, 1867, in the +city of Valencia, that same picturesque sunshiny Valencia which was +captured from the Moors by the formidable Cid a little over eight +centuries ago. But Blasco Ibáñez is a _valenciano_ only by birth, for +his family came from the old kingdom of Aragon. + +The Aragonese are a sturdy, hardworking, adventurous people, somewhat +stubborn, suicidally valorous, passionately independent, fanatically +religious, fond of music and of the honest pleasures of life. Their +adventurous spirit led them in ages gone by as far as Asia Minor, where, +with the Catalonians, they gave a good account of themselves. They +fought against the Moors as doughtily as did the Castilians, and when +their kingdom was united to that of Castile, under Isabella and +Ferdinand, Granada was conquered and Mahomedan domination in Spain +ceased for ever. The great Napoleon had no fiercer antagonists than the +Aragonese, and when, after two sieges, his troops took Saragossa, they +found in it nothing but corpses and ashes. The Aragonese were so jealous +of their liberties that when one of their kings was being crowned, the +Chief Justice of Aragon, addressing His Majesty in the familiar form, +reminded him that they, the people, were greater than their king, +"_somos más que tu_". + +Of his Aragonese ancestry, we find in Blasco Ibáñez the intense love of +freedom, the adventurous spirit and the untiring energy for work. + +Blasco Ibáñez was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth; his earlier +years were a continual struggle for existence in which he made a close +acquaintance with poverty and even hunger. He followed many trades and +occupied, after a hard hunt, minor clerical positions. Yet, he managed +to study law and at the age of eighteen he was a full fledged lawyer. + +His studies may have impressed him with the august majesty of the law, +but did not imbue him with any respect for the then existing government, +and he proceeded to write a sonnet which gave full vent to his contempt +for it. + +Considering that many sonneteers escape the gallows they so richly +deserve for their miserable productions, it was hard on Blasco Ibáñez +that he should have to go to jail for a period "not exceeding six +months," but perhaps it was just as well for him, as he no doubt has +made good use of his experience. + +Jails, as we all know, are not meant to correct political ideas: they +are merely punitive institutions. Blasco Ibáñez took his punishment like +the man he is, and at the first opportunity attacked the government with +renewed vigor and was banished from Spain. During his exile, Blasco +Ibáñez lived in France and visited Italy. + +Returning to Valencia after an amnesty, he founded a newspaper, "El +Pueblo" (The People) in 1891. From the columns of his paper, which he +still edits, he continued his fight "agin' the government," advocating a +republican form of government. He became a leader in the Republican +party and was elected Deputy to the Spanish Parliament, for the city of +Valencia, six consecutive times. + +Though his political career has been a most strenuous one, it by no +means exhausted his tremendous energy, and he managed at the same time +to do an immense amount of literary work. As a young man, he became +secretary to Manuel Fernandez y Gonzalez, a prolific writer--he is said +to have written over three hundred novels--whose name has been almost +forgotten. Fernandez y Gonzalez was an old man when Blasco Ibáñez made +his acquaintance, and it often happened that the old man, exhausted by +age, or merely feeling heavy after a hearty meal, fell asleep while +dictating to his young secretary. Blasco Ibáñez, however, did not stop +writing; he let his own fancy do the dictating, for a change, and he +continued the novel until the old man woke up of his own accord. Then, +he read what he had written, and Fernandez y Gonzalez, who must have had +good literary taste, was generally delighted with the collaboration. + +It is extremely doubtful whether Fernandez y Gonzalez had any influence +on Blasco Ibáñez as a writer. He was an excellent example of an +energetic worker ... and that is all. But Blasco Ibáñez did not need any +such examples. He is, and has always been, activity personified. + +While Blasco Ibáñez was actively engaged in political warfare, editing +his own paper, contributing radical articles to other papers and +periodicals, issuing innumerable pamphlets, preparing speeches, and +addressing meetings, he still found time to write novels. Seventeen +novels, two books of short stories, and three of travels stand to his +name, as well as many uncollected critical and biographical essays. + +His first novels were written at odd moments, after he had edited "El +Pueblo" and attended to political business. In later years, he has +devoted less time to politics and more to literature. Whereas his +earlier novels required little preparation, for they deal with his +native city, which he has known all his life, his later works represent +a gigantic amount of study and forethought, for Blasco Ibáñez is nothing +if not thorough. He studies his characters at first hand. When he was +preparing _Flor de Mayo_, he became one of those tobacco smugglers of +whom he speaks; he obtained his material for _La Horda_ by living with +the scum of Madrid and joining some of the poachers in their excursions +to the royal preserves at El Pardo, thereby running the risk of being +shot at sight by the guards; later on, while he was planning _Los +Muertos Mandan_, he joined the fishermen on the coast of Ibiza, in the +Balearic Islands, and having been caught in a storm, nearly lost his +life; he lived a long time among bullfighters before writing _Sangre y +Arena_ and became intimately acquainted with the famous "espada" Antonio +Fuentes. + +As if all the activities we have enumerated were not enough to keep an +ordinary Hercules busy for a life-time, Blasco Ibáñez has been +interested for many years in a publishing firm which has been the means +of introducing into Spain what is more instructive or interesting in the +literatures of other countries. Some of the publications of this +firm--Prometeo, of Valencia--bear witness to the indefatigable energy of +the man. Such are the "New Universal History," by Lavisse and Rambaud, +of which ten volumes have thus far been published; the "History of the +French Revolution," by Michelet, in three volumes; the "New Universal +Geography," by Reclus; "The Thousand Nights and One Night," all of them +translated by Blasco Ibáñez. The same firm is now publishing a +monumental "History of the European War of 1914," from the pen of Blasco +Ibáñez. Six ponderous tomes of this work have already been published. + +Blasco Ibáñez has travelled extensively. He has visited most of Europe, +the Near East, and Argentina. In the latter country, he has acquired +some land and has founded a colony. + +There is a curious contradiction between Blasco Ibáñez' personal +appearance and his life's activities. In his younger days, when he was +more of a man of action than to-day, he wore a curly beard and a +mustache that grew untouched by scissors. They gave him an artistic +appearance and harmonized well with the rest of his features. In those +days he was a decidedly handsome man. To-day, when he is more of an +artist, perhaps, than a man of action, the beard has disappeared and the +mustache is close-cropped. The hairy camouflage, sacrificed--as we +suspect--to the goddess of Anglo-Saxon fashion, concealed a determined +chin and two deep lines, running from the base of the nose to the +corners of his mouth, that give him an energetic air. His forehead is +now larger than ever, for he is getting somewhat bald; his eyes are +piercing, with moderate eyebrows and slightly puffed lower eyelids, and +they have lost that touch of dreaminess they had in their younger days; +his nose is large and shapely modelled, his face broad and fleshy, his +ears round and big. Altogether, his head--supported by a short bullish +neck--is that of a deep thinker, a sharp observer, and active energetic +man, and withal a _bon vivant_. In other words, a true Aragonese. + +_Ecce homo!_ + +MARIANO JOAQUIN LORENTE + + + + +CONTENTS + + Page + +The Last Lion 15 + +The Toad 26 + +Compassion 36 + +The Windfall 46 + +Luxury 56 + +Rabies 61 + + + + +THE LAST LION + + +Scarcely had the meeting of the honorable guild of _blanquers_ come to +order within its chapel near the towers of Serranos, when Señor Vicente +asked for the floor. He was the oldest tanner in Valencia. Many masters +recalled their apprentice days and declared that he was the same now as +then, with his white, brush-like mustache, his face that looked like a +sun of wrinkles, his aggressive eyes and cadaverous thinness, as if all +the sap of his life had been consumed in the daily motions of his feet +and hands about the vats of the tannery. + +He was the only representative of the guild's glories, the sole survivor +of those _blanquers_ who were an honor to Valencian history. The +grandchildren of his former companions had become corrupted with the +march of time; they were proprietors of large establishments, with +thousands of workmen, but they would be lost if they ever had to tan a +skin with their soft, business-man's hands. Only he could call himself a +_blanquer_ of the old school, working every day in his little hut near +the guild house; master and toiler at the same time, with no other +assistants than his sons and grandchildren; his workshop was of the old +kind, amid sweet domestic surroundings, with neither threats of strikes +nor quarrels over the day's pay. + +The centuries had raised the level of the street, converting Señor +Vicente's shop into a gloomy cave. The door through which his ancestors +had entered had grown smaller and smaller from the bottom until it had +become little more than a window. Five stairs connected the street with +the damp floor of the tannery, and above, near a pointed arch, a relic +of medieval Valencia, floated like banners the skins that had been hung +up to dry, wafting about the unbearable odor of the leather. The old man +by no means envied the _moderns_, in their luxuriously appointed +business offices. Surely they blushed with shame on passing through his +lane and seeing him, at breakfast hour, taking the sun,--his sleeves and +trousers rolled up, showing his thin arms and legs, stained red,--with +the pride of a robust old age that permitted him to battle daily with +the hides. + +Valencia was preparing to celebrate the centenary of one of its famous +saints, and the guild of _blanquers_, like the other historic guilds, +wished to make its contribution to the festivities. Señor Vicente, with +the prestige of his years, imposed his will upon all the masters. The +_blanquers_ should remain what they were. All the glories of the past, +long sequestrated in the chapel, must figure in the procession. And it +was high time they were displayed in public! His gaze, wandering about +the chapel, seemed to caress the guild's relics; the sixteenth century +drums, as large as jars, that preserved within their drumheads the +hoarse cries of revolutionary Germania; the great lantern of carved +wood, torn from the prow of a galley; the red silk banner of the guild, +edged with gold that had become greenish through the ages. + +All this must be displayed during the celebration, shaking off the dust +of oblivion; even the famous lion of the _blanquers_! + +The _moderns_ burst into impious laughter. The lion, too?... Yes, the +lion, too. To Señor Vicente it seemed a dishonor on the part of the +guild to forget that glorious beast. The ancient ballads, the accounts +of celebrations that might be read in the city archives, the old folks +who had lived in the splendid epoch of the guilds with their fraternal +camaraderie,--all spoke of the _blanquers'_ lion; but now nobody knew +the animal, and this was a shame for the trade, a loss to the city. + +Their lion was as great a glory as the silk mart or the well of San +Vicente. He knew very well the reason for this opposition on the part of +the _moderns_. They feared to assume the rôle of the lion. Never fear, +my young fellows! He, with his burden of years, numbered more than +seventy, would claim his honor. It belonged to him in all justice; his +father, his grandfather, his countless ancestors, had all been lions, +and he felt equal to coming to blows with anybody who would dare dispute +his right to the rôle of the lion, traditional in his family. + +With what enthusiasm Señor Vicente related the history of the lion and +the heroic _blanquers_. One day the Barbary pirates from Bujia had +landed at Torreblanca, just beyond Castellón, and sacked the church, +carrying off the Shrine. This happened a little before the time of Saint +Vicente Ferrer, for the old tanner had no other way of explaining +history than by dividing it into two periods; before and after the +Saint.... The population, which was scarcely moved by the raids of the +pirates, hearing of the abduction of pale maidens with large black eyes +and plump figures, destined for the harem, as if this were an inevitable +misfortune, broke into cries of grief upon learning of the sacrilege at +Torreblanca. + +The churches of the town were draped in black; people went through the +streets wailing loudly, striking themselves as a punishment. What could +those dogs do with the blessed Host? What would become of the poor, +defenseless Shrine?... Then it was that the valiant _blanquers_ came +upon the scene. Was not the Shrine at Bujia? Then on to Bujia in quest +of it! They reasoned like heroes accustomed to beating hides all day +long, and they saw nothing formidable about beating the enemies of God. +At their own expense they fitted out a galley and the whole guild went +aboard, carrying along their beautiful banner; the other guilds, and +indeed the entire town, followed this example and chartered other +vessels. + +The Justice himself cast aside his scarlet gown and covered himself with +mail from head to foot; the worthy councilmen abandoned the benches of +the Golden Chamber, shielding their paunches with scales that shone like +those of the fishes in the gulf; the hundred archers of la Pluma, who +guarded _la Señera_, filled their quivers with arrows, and the Jews from +the quarter of la Xedrea did a rushing business, selling all their old +iron, including lances, notched swords and rusty corselets, in exchange +for good, ringing pieces of silver. + +And off sped the Valencian galleys, with their jib-sails spread to the +wind, convoyed by a shoal of dolphins, which sported about in the foam +of their prows!... When the Moors beheld them approaching, the infidels +began to tremble, repenting of their irreverence toward the Shrine. And +this, despite the fact that they were a set of hardened old dogs. +Valencians, headed by the valiant _blanquers_! Who, indeed, would dare +face them! + +The battle raged for several days and nights, according to the tale of +Señor Vicente. Reinforcements of Moors arrived, but the Valencians, +loyal and fierce, fought to the death. And they were already beginning +to feel exhausted from the labor of disembowelling so many infidels, +when behold, from a neighboring mountain a lion comes walking down on +his hind paws, for all the world like a regular person, carrying in his +forepaws, most reverently, the Shrine,--the Shrine that had been stolen +from Torreblanca! The beast delivered it ceremoniously into the hands of +one of the guild, undoubtedly an ancestor of Señor Vicente, and hence +for centuries his family had possessed the privilege of representing +that amiable animal in the Valencian processions. + +Then he shook his mane, emitted a roar, and with blows and bites in +every direction cleared the field instantly of Moors. + +The Valencians sailed for home, carrying the Shrine back like a trophy. +The chief of the _blanquers_ saluted the lion, courteously offering him +the guild house, near the towers of Serranos, which he could consider as +his own. Many thanks; the beast was accustomed to the sun of Africa and +feared a change of climate. + +But the trade was not ungrateful, and to perpetuate the happy +recollection of the shaggy-maned friend whom they possessed on the other +shore of the sea, every time the guild banner floated in the Valencian +celebrations, there marched behind it an ancestor of Señor Vicente, to +the sound of drums, and he was covered with hide, with a mask that was +the living image of the worthy lion, bearing in his hands a Shrine of +wood, so small and poor that it caused one to doubt the genuine value of +Torreblanca's own Shrine. + +Perverse and irreverent persons even dared to affirm, to the great +indignation of Señor Vicente, that the whole story was a lie. Sheer +envy! Ill will of the other trades, which couldn't point to such a +glorious history! There was the guild chapel as proof, and in it the +lantern from the prow of the vessel, which the conscienceless wretches +declared dated from many centuries after the supposed battle; and there +were the guild drums, and the glorious banner; and the moth-eaten hide +of the lion, in which all his predecessors had encased themselves, lay +now forgotten behind the altar, covered with cobwebs and dust, but it +was none the less as authentic and worthy of reverence as the stones of +el Miguelete.[A] + +[A] A belfry in Valencia. + +And above all there was his faith, ardent and incontrovertible, capable +of receiving as an affront to the family the slightest irreverence +toward the African lion, the illustrious friend of the guild. + +The procession took place on an afternoon in June. The sons, the +daughters-in-law, and the grandsons of Señor Vicente helped him to get +into the costume of the lion, perspiring most uncomfortably at the mere +touch of that red-stained wool. "Father, you're going to +roast."--"Grandpa, you'll melt inside of this costume." + +The old man, however, deaf to the warnings of the family, shook his +moth-eaten mane with pride, thinking of his ancestors; then he tried on +the terrifying mask, a cardboard arrangement that imitated, with a faint +resemblance, the countenance of the wild beast. + +What a triumphant afternoon! The streets crowded with spectators; the +balconies decorated with bunting, and upon them rows of variegated +bonnets shading fair faces from the sun; the ground covered with myrtle, +forming a green, odorous carpet whose perfume seemed to expand the +lungs. + +The procession was headed by the standard-bearers, with beards of hemp, +crowns, and striped dalmatics, holding aloft the Valencian banners +adorned with enormous bats and large L's beside the coat of arms; then, +to the sound of the flageolet, the retinue of wild Indians, shepherds +from Bethlehem, Catalans and Majorcans; following these passed the +dwarfs with their monstrously huge heads, clicking the castanets to the +rhythm of a Moorish march; behind these came the giants of the Corpus +and at the end, the banners of the guilds; an endless row of red +standards, faded with the years, and so tall that their tops reached +higher than the first stories of the buildings. + +Plom! Rotoplom! rolled the drums of the _blanquers_,--instruments of +barbarous sonority, so large that their weight forced the drummers to +bow their necks. Plom! Rotoplom! they resounded, hoarse and menacing, +with savage solemnity, as if they were still marking the tread of the +revolutionary guild regiments, sallying forth to the encounter with the +emperor's young leader,--that Don Juan of Aragon, duke of Segorbe, who +served Victor Hugo as the model for his romantic personage _Hernani_! +Plom! Rotoplom! The people ran for good places and jostled one another +to obtain a better view of the guild members, bursting into laughter and +shouts. What was that? A monkey?... A wild man?... Ah! The faith of the +past was truly laughable. + +The young members of the trade, their shirts open at the neck and their +sleeves rolled up, took turns at carrying the heavy banner, performing +feats of jugglery, balancing it on the palms of their hands or upon +their teeth, to the rhythm of the drums. + +The wealthy masters had the honor of holding the cords of the banner, +and behind them marched the lion, the glorious lion of the guild, who +was now no longer known. Nor did the lion march in careless fashion; he +was dignified, as the old traditions bade him be, and as Señor Vicente +had seen his father march, and as the latter had seen his grandfather; +he kept time with the drums, bowing at every step, to right and to left, +moving the Shrine fan-wise, like a polite and well-bred beast who knows +the respect due to the public. + +The farmers who had come to the celebration opened their eyes in +amazement; the mothers pointed him out with their fingers so that the +children might see him; but the youngsters, frowning, tightened their +grasp upon their mothers' necks, hiding their faces to shed tears of +terror. + +When the banner halted, the glorious lion had to defend himself with his +hind paws against the disrespectful swarm of gamins that surrounded him, +trying to tear some locks out of his moth-eaten mane. At other times the +beast looked up at the balconies to salute the pretty girls with the +Shrine; they laughed at the grotesque figure. And Señor Vicente did +wisely; however much of a lion one may be, one must be gallant toward +the fair sex. + +The spectators fanned themselves, trying to find a momentary coolness in +the burning atmosphere; the _horchateros_[A] bustled among the crowds +shouting their wares, called from all directions at once and not knowing +whither to go first; the standard-bearers and the drummers wiped the +sweat off their faces at every restaurant door, and at last went inside +to seek refreshment. + +[A] Vendors of "horchata," iced orgeat. + +But the lion stuck to his post. His mask became soft; he walked with a +certain weariness, letting the Shrine rest upon his stomach, having by +this time lost all desire to bow to the public. + +Fellow tanners approached him with jesting questions. + +"How are things going, _so Visent_?" + +And _so Visent_ roared indignantly from the interior of his cardboard +disguise. How should things go? Very well. He was able to keep it up, +without failing in his part, even if the parade continued for three +days. As for getting tired, leave that to the young folks. And drawing +himself proudly erect, he resumed his bows, marking time with his +swaying Shrine of wood. + +The procession lasted three hours. When the guild banner returned to the +Cathedral night was beginning to fall. + +Plom! Retoplom! The glorious banner of the _blanquers_ returned to its +guild house behind the drums. The myrtle on the streets had disappeared +beneath the feet of the paraders. Now the ground was covered with drops +of wax, rose leaves and strips of tinsel. The liturgic perfume of +incense floated through the air. Plom! Retoplom! The drums were tired; +the strapping youths who had carried the standards were now panting, +having lost all desire to perform balancing tricks; the rich masters +clutched the cords of the banner tightly as if the latter were towing +them along, and they complained of their new shoes and their bunions; +but the lion, the weary lion (ah, swaggering beast!) who at times seemed +on the point of falling to the ground, still had strength left to rise +on his hind paws and frighten the suburban couples, who pulled at a +string of children that had been dazzled by the sights. + +A lie! Pure conceit! Señor Vicente knew what it felt like to be inside +of the lion's hide. But nobody is obliged to take the part of the lion, +and he who assumes it must stick it out to the bitter end. + +Once home, he sank upon the sofa like a bundle of wool; his sons, +daughters-in-law and grandchildren hastened to remove the mask from his +face. They could scarcely recognize him, so congested and scarlet were +his features, which seemed to spurt water from every line of his +wrinkles. + +They tried to remove his skins; but the beast was oppressed by a +different desire, begging in a suffocated voice. He wished a drink; he +was choking with the heat. The family, warning against illness, +protested in vain. The deuce! He desired a drink right away. And who +would dare resist an infuriated lion?... + +From the nearest café they brought him some ice-cream in a blue cup; a +Valencian ice-cream, honey-sweet and grateful to the nostrils, +glistening with drops of white juice at the conical top. + +But what are ice creams to a lion! _Haaam_! He swallowed it at a single +gulp, as if it were a mere trifle! His thirst and the heat assailed him +anew, and he roared for other refreshment. + +The family, for reasons of economy, thought of the _horchata_ from a +near-by restaurant. They would see; let a full jar of it be brought. And +Señor Vicente drank and drank until it was unnecessary to remove the +skins from him. Why? Because an attack of double pneumonia finished him +inside of a few hours. The glorious, shaggy-haired _uniform_ of the +family served him as a shroud. + +Thus died the lion of the _blanquers_,--the last lion of Valencia. + +And the fact is that _horchata_ is fatal for beasts.... Pure poison! + + + + +THE TOAD + + +"I was spending the summer at Nazaret," said my friend Orduna, "a little +fishermen's town near Valencia. The women went to the city to sell the +fish, the men sailed about in their boats with triangular sails, or +tugged at their nets on the beach; we summer vacationists spent the day +sleeping and the night at the doors of our houses, contemplating the +phosphorescence of the waves or slapping ourselves here and there +whenever we heard the buzz of a mosquito,--that scourge of our resting +hours. + +"The doctor, a hardy and genial old fellow, would come and sit down +under the bower before my door, and we'd spend the night together, with +a jar or a watermelon at our side, speaking of his patients, folks of +land or sea, credulous, rough and insolent in their manners, given over +to fishing or to the cultivation of their fields. At times we laughed as +he recalled the illness of Visanteta, the daughter of _la Soberana_, an +old fishmonger who justified her nickname of _the Queen_ by her bulk and +her stature, as well as by the arrogance with which she treated her +market companions, imposing her will upon them by right of might.... The +belle of the place was this Visanteta: tiny, malicious, with a clever +tongue, and no other good looks than that of youthful health; but she +had a pair of penetrating eyes and a trick of pretending timidity, +weakness, and interest, which simply turned the heads of the village +youths. Her sweetheart was _Carafosca_, a brave fisherman who was +capable of sailing on a stick of wood. On the sea he was admired by all +for his audacity; on land he filled everybody with fear by his provoking +silence and the facility with which he whipped out his aggressive +sailor's knife. Ugly, burly, and always ready for a fight, like the huge +creatures that from time to time showed up in the waters of Nazaret +devouring all the fish, he would walk to church on Sunday afternoons at +his sweetheart's side, and every time the maiden raised her head to +speak to him, amidst the simple talk and lisping of a delicate, pampered +child, _Carafosca_ would cast a challenging look about him with his +squinting eyes, as if defying all the folk of the fields, the beach, and +the sea to take his Visanteta away from him. + +"One day the most astounding news was bruited about Nazaret. The +daughter of la _Soberana_ had an animal inside of her. Her abdomen was +swelling; the slow deformation revealed itself through her under-skirts +and her dress; her face lost color, and the fact that she had swooned +several times, vomiting painfully, upset the entire cabin and caused her +mother to burst into desperate lamentations and to run in terror for +help. Many of her neighbors smiled when they heard of this illness. Let +them tell it to _Carafosca_!... But the incredulous ones ceased their +malicious talk and their suspicions when they saw how sad and desperate +_Carafosca_ became at his sweetheart's illness, praying for her recovery +with all the fervor of a simple soul, even going so far as to enter the +little village church,--he, who had always been a pagan, a blasphemer +of God and the saints. + +"Yes, it was a strange and horrible sickness. The people, in their +predisposition to believe in all sorts of extraordinary and rare +afflictions, were certain that they knew what this was. Visanteta had a +toad in her stomach. She had drunk from a certain spot of the near-by +river, and the wicked animal, small and almost unnoticeable, had gone +down into her stomach, growing fast. The good neighbors, trembling with +stupefaction, flocked to _la Soberana's_ cabin to examine the girl. All, +with a certain solemnity, felt the swelling abdomen, seeking in its +tightened surface the outlines of the hidden creature. Some of them, +older and more experienced than the rest, laughed with a triumphant +expression. There it was, right under their hand. They could feel it +stirring, moving about.... Yes, it was moving! And after grave +deliberation, they agreed upon remedies to expel the unwelcome guest. +They gave the girl spoonfuls of rosemary honey, so that the wicked +creature inside should start to eat it gluttonously, and when he was +most preoccupied in his joyous meal, whiz!--an inundation of onion juice +and vinegar that would bring him out at full gallop. At the same time +they applied to her stomach miraculous plasters, so that the toad, left +without a moment's rest, should escape in terror; there were rags soaked +in brandy and saturated with incense; tangles of hemp dipped in the +calking of the ships; mountain herbs; simple bits of paper with numbers, +crosses and Solomon's seal upon them, sold by the miracle-worker of the +city. Visanteta thought that all these remedies that were being thrust +down her throat would be the death of her. She shuddered with the +chills of nausea, she writhed in horrible contortions as if she were +about to expel her very entrails, but the odious toad did not deign to +show even one of his legs, and _la Soberana_ cried to heaven. Ah, her +daughter!... Those remedies would never succeed in casting out the +wretched animal: it was better to let it alone, and not torture the poor +girl; rather give it a great deal to eat, so that it wouldn't feed upon +the strength of Visanteta who was growing paler and weaker every day. + +"And as _la Soberana_ was poor, all her friends, moved by the +compassionate solidarity of the common people, devoted themselves to the +feeding of Visanteta so that the toad should do her no harm. The +fisherwomen, upon returning from the square brought her cakes that were +purchased in city establishments, that only the upper class patronized; +on the beach, when the catch was sorted, they laid aside for her a +dainty morsel that would serve for a succulent soup; the neighbors, who +happened to be cooking in their pots over the fire would take out a +cupful of the best of the broth, carrying it slowly so that it shouldn't +spill, and bring it to _la Soberana's_ cabin; cups of chocolate arrived +one after the other every afternoon. + +"Visanteta rebelled against this excessive kindness. She couldn't +swallow another drop! She was full! But her mother stuck out her hairy +nose with an imperious expression. I tell you to eat! She must remember +what she had inside of her.... And she began to feel a faint, +indefinable affection for that mysterious creature, lodged in the +entrails of her daughter. She pictured it to herself; she could see it; +it was her pride. Thanks to it, the whole town had its eyes upon the +cabin and the trail of visitors was unending, and _la Soberana_ never +passed a woman on her way without being stopped and asked for news. + +"Only once had they summoned the doctor, seeing him pass by the door; +but not that they really wished him, or had any faith in him. What could +that helpless man do against such a tenacious animal!... And upon +hearing that, not content with the explanations of the mother and the +daughter and his own audacious tapping around her clothes, he +recommended an internal examination, the proud mother almost showed him +the door. The impudent wretch! Not in a hurry was he going to have the +pleasure of seeing her daughter so intimately! The poor thing, so good +and so modest, who blushed merely at the thought of such proposals!... + +"On Sunday afternoons Visanteta went to church, figuring at the head of +the daughters of Mary. Her voluminous abdomen was eyed with admiration +by the girls. They all asked breathlessly after the toad, and Visanteta +replied wearily. It didn't bother her so much now. It had grown very +much because she ate so well; sometimes it moved about, but it didn't +hurt as it used to. One after the other the maidens would place their +hands upon the afflicted one and feel the movements of the invisible +creature, admiring as they did so the superiority of their friend. The +curate, a blessed chap of pious simplicity, pretended not to notice the +feminine curiosity, and thought with awe of the things done by God to +put His creatures to the test. Afterwards, when the afternoon drew to a +close, and the choir sang in gentle voice the praises of Our Lady of the +Sea, each of the virgins would fall to thinking of that mysterious +beast, praying fervently that poor Visanteta be delivered of it as soon +as possible. + +"_Carafosca_, too, enjoyed a certain notoriety because of his +sweetheart's affliction. The women accosted him, the old fishermen +stopped him to inquire about the animal that was torturing the girl. +'The poor thing! The poor thing!' he would groan, in accents of amorous +commiseration. He said no more; but his eyes revealed a vehement desire +to take over as soon as possible Visanteta and her toad, since the +latter inspired a certain affection in him because of its connection +with her. + +"One night, when the doctor was at my door, a woman came in search of +him, panting with dramatic horror. _La Soberana's_ daughter was very +sick; he must run to her rescue. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, +yes! The toad!' And he didn't seem at all anxious to stir. Then came +another woman, more agitated than the first. Poor Visanteta! She was +dying! Her shrieks could be heard all over the street. The wicked beast +was devouring her entrails.... + +"I followed the doctor, attracted by the curiosity that had the whole +town in a commotion. When we came to _la Soberana's_ cabin we had to +force our way through a compact group of women who obstructed the +doorway, crowding into the house. A rending shriek, a rasping wail came +from the innermost part of the dwelling, rising above the heads of the +curious or terrified women. The hoarse voice of _la Soberana_ answered +with entreating accents. Her daughter! Ah, Lord, her poor daughter.... + +"The arrival of the physician was received by a chorus of demands on the +part of the old women. Poor Visanteta was writhing furiously, unable to +bear such pain; her eyes bulged from their sockets and her features were +distorted. She must be operated upon; her entrails must be opened and +the green, slippery demon that was eating her alive must be expelled. + +"The doctor proceeded upon his task, without paying any attention to the +advice showered upon him, and before I could reach his side his voice +resounded through the sudden silence, with ill-humored brusqueness: + +"'But good Lord, the only trouble with this girl is that she's going to +...!' + +"Before he could finish, all could guess from the harshness of his voice +what he was about to say. The group of women yielded before _la +Soberana's_ thrusts even as the waves of the sea under the belly of a +whale. She stuck out her big hands and her threatening nails, mumbling +insults and looking at the doctor with murder in her eyes. Bandit! +Drunkard! Out of her house!... It was the people's fault, for supporting +such an infidel. She'd eat him up! Let them make way for her!... And she +struggled violently with her friends, fighting to free herself and +scratch out the doctor's eyes. To her vindictive cries were joined the +weak bleating of Visanteta, protesting with the breath that was left her +between her groans of pain. It was a lie! Let that wicked man be gone! +What a nasty mouth he had! It was all a lie!... + +"But the doctor went hither and thither, asking for water, for bandages, +snappy and imperious in his commands, paying no attention whatsoever to +the threats of the mother or the cries of the daughter, which were +becoming louder and more heart-rending than ever. Suddenly she roared +as if she were being slaughtered, and there was a bustle of curiosity +around the physician, whom I couldn't see. 'It's a lie! A lie! +Evil-tongued wretch! Slanderer!'... But the protestations of Visanteta +were no longer unaccompanied. To her voice of an innocent victim begging +justice from heaven was added the cry of a pair of lungs that were +breathing the air for the first time. + +"And now the friends of _la Soberana_ had to restrain her from falling +upon her daughter. She would kill her! The bitch! Whose child was +that?... And terrified by the threats of her mother, the sick woman, who +was still sobbing 'It's a lie! A lie!' at last spoke. It was a young +fellow of the _huerta_ whom she had never seen again ... an indiscretion +committed one evening.... She no longer remembered. No, she could not +remember!... And she insisted upon this forgetfulness as if it were an +incontrovertible excuse. + +"The people now saw through it all. The women were impatient to spread +the news. As we left, _la Soberana_, humiliated and in tears, tried to +kneel before the doctor and kiss his hand. 'Ay, Don Antoni!... Don +Antoni!' She asked pardon for her insults; she despaired when she +thought of the village comments. What they would have to suffer now!... +On the following day the youths that sang as they arranged their nets +would invent new verses. The song of the toad! Her life would become +impossible!... But even more than this, the thought of _Carafosca_ +terrified her. She knew very well what sort of brute that was. He would +kill poor Visanteta the first time she appeared on the street; and she +herself would meet the same fate for being her mother and not having +guarded her well. 'Ay, Don Antoni!' She begged him, upon her knees, to +see _Carafosca_. He, who was so good and who knew so much, could +convince the fellow with his reasoning, and make him swear that he would +not do the women any harm,--that he would forget them. + +"The doctor received these entreaties with the same indifference as he +had received the threats, and he answered sharply. He would see about +it; it was a delicate affair. But once in the street, he shrugged his +shoulders with resignation. 'Let's go and see that animal.' + +"We pulled him out of the tavern and the three of us began to walk along +the beach through the darkness. The fisherman seemed to be awed at +finding himself between two persons of such importance. Don Antonio +spoke to him of the indisputable superiority of men ever since the +earliest days of creation; of the scorn with which women should be +regarded because of their lack of seriousness; of their immense number +and the ease with which we could pick another if the one we had happened +to displease us ... and at last, with brutal directness, told what had +happened. + +"_Carafosca_ hesitated, as if he had not understood the doctor's words +very well. Little by little the certainty dawned upon his dense +comprehension. 'By God! By God!' And he scratched himself fearfully +under his cap, and brought his hands to his sash as if he were seeking +his redoubtable knife. + +"The physician tried to console him. He must forget Visanteta; there +would be no sense or advantage in killing her. It wasn't worth while for +a splendid chap like him to go to prison for slaying a worthless +creature like her. The real culprit was that unknown laborer; but ... +and she! And how easily she ... committed the indiscretion, not being +able to recall anything afterwards!... + +"For a long time we walked along in painful silence, with no other +novelty than _Carafosca's_ scratching of his head and his sash. Suddenly +he surprised us with the roar of his voice, speaking to us in Castilian, +thus adding solemnity to what he said: + +"'Do you want me to tell you something?... Do you want me to tell you +something?' + +"He looked at us with hostile eyes, as if he saw before him the unknown +culprit of the _huerta_, ready to pounce upon him. It could be seen that +his sluggish brain had just adopted a very firm resolution.... What was +it? Let him speak. + +"'Well, then,' he articulated slowly, as if we were enemies whom he +desired to confound, 'I tell you ... that now I love the girl more than +ever.' + +"In our stupefaction, at a loss for reply, we shook hands with him." + + + + +COMPASSION + + +At ten o'clock in the evening Count de Sagreda walked into his club on +the Boulevard des Capucins. There was a bustle among the servants to +relieve him of his cane, his highly polished hat and his costly fur +coat, which, as it left his shoulders revealed a shirt bosom of +immaculate neatness, a gardenia in his lapel, and all the attire of +black and white, dignified yet brilliant, that belongs to a gentleman +who has just dined. + +The story of his ruin was known by every member of the club. His +fortune, which fifteen years before had caused a certain commotion in +Paris, having been ostentatiously cast to the four winds, was exhausted. +The count was now living on the remains of his opulence, like those +shipwrecked seamen who live upon the debris of the vessel, postponing in +anguish the arrival of the last hour. The very servants who danced +attendance upon him like slaves in dress suits, knew of his misfortune +and discussed his shameful plight; but not even the slightest suggestion +of insolence disturbed the colorless glance of their eyes, petrified by +servitude. He was such a nobleman! He had scattered his money with such +majesty!... Besides, he was a genuine member of the nobility, a nobility +that dated back for centuries and whose musty odor inspired a certain +ceremonious gravity in many of the citizens whose forebears had helped +bring about the Revolution. He was not one of those Polish counts who +permit themselves to be entertained by women, nor an Italian marquis who +winds up by cheating at cards, nor a Russian personage of consequence +who often draws his pay from the police; he was genuine _hidalgo_, a +grandee of Spain. Perhaps one of his ancestors figured in the _Cid_, in +_Ruy Blas_ or some other of the heroic pieces in the repertory of the +Comédie Française. + +The count entered the salons of the club with head erect and a proud +gait, greeting his friends with a barely discernible smile, a mixture of +hauteur and light-heartedness. + +He was approaching his fortieth year, but he was still the _beau_ +Sagreda, as he had long been nicknamed by the noctambulous women of +Maxim's and the early-rising Amazons of the Bois. A few gray hairs at +his temples and a triangle of faint wrinkles at the corner of his brows, +betrayed the effects of an existence that had been lived at too rapid a +pace, with the vital machinery running at full speed. But his eyes were +still youthful, intense and melancholy; eyes that caused him to be +called "the Moor" by his men and women friends. The Viscounte de la +Tresminière, crowned by the Academy as the author of a study on one of +his ancestors who had been a companion of Condé, and highly appreciated +by the antique dealers on the left bank of the Seine, who sold him all +the bad canvases they had in store, called him _Velazquez_, satisfied +that the swarthy, somewhat olive complexion of the count, his black, +heavy mustache and his grave eyes, gave him the right to display his +thorough acquaintance with Spanish art. + +All the members of the club spoke of Sagreda's ruin with discreet +compassion. The poor count! Not to fall heir to some new legacy. Not to +meet some American millionairess who would be smitten with him and his +titles!... They must do something to save him. + +And he walked amid this mute and smiling pity without being at all aware +of it, encased in his pride, receiving as admiration that which was +really compassionate sympathy, forced to have recourse to painful +simulations in order to surround himself with as much luxury as before, +thinking that he was deceiving others and deceiving only himself. + +Sagreda cherished no illusions as to the future. All the relatives that +might come to his rescue with a timely legacy had done so many years +before, upon making their exit from the world's stage. None that might +recall his name was left beyond the mountains. In Spain he had only some +distant relatives, personages of the nobility united to him more by +historic bonds than by ties of blood. They addressed him familiarly, but +he could expect from them no help other than good advice and admonitions +against his wild extravagance.... It was all over. Fifteen years of +dazzling display had consumed the supply of wealth with which Sagreda +one day arrived in Paris. The granges of Andalusia, with their droves of +cattle and horses, had changed hands without ever having made the +acquaintance of this owner, devoted to luxury and always absent. After +them, the vast wheat fields of Castilla and the rice fields of Valencia, +and the villages of the northern provinces, had gone into strange +hands,--all the princely possessions of the ancient counts of Sagreda, +plus the inheritances from various pious aunts, and the considerable +legacies of other relatives who had died of old age in their ancient +country houses. + +Paris and the elegant summer seasons had in a few years devoured this +fortune of centuries. The recollection of a few noisy love affairs with +two actresses in vogue; the nostalgic smile of a dozen costly women of +the world; the forgotten fame of several duels; a certain prestige as a +rash, calm gambler, and a reputation as a knightly swordsman, +intransigeant in matters of honor, were all that remained to the _beau_ +Sagreda after his downfall. + +He lived upon his past, contracting new debts with certain providers +who, recalling other financial crises, trusted to a re-establishment of +his fortune. "His fate was settled," according to the count's own words. +When he could do no more, he would resort to a final course. Kill +himself?... never. Men like him committed suicide only because of +gambling debts or debts of honor. Ancestors of his, noble and glorious, +had owed huge sums to persons who were not their equals, without for a +moment considering suicide on this account. When the creditors should +shut their doors to him, and the money-lenders should threaten him with +a public court scandal, Count de Sagreda, making a heroic effort, would +wrench himself away from the sweet Parisian life. His ancestors had been +soldiers and colonizers. He would join the foreign legion of Algeria, or +would take passage for that America which had been conquered by his +forefathers, becoming a mounted shepherd in the solitudes of Southern +Chile or upon the boundless plains of Patagonia. + +Until the dreaded moment should arrive, this hazardous, cruel existence +that forced him to live a continuous lie, was the best period of his +career. From his last trip to Spain, made for the purpose of liquidating +certain remnants of his patrimony, he had returned with a woman, a +maiden of the provinces who had been captivated by the prestige of the +nobleman; in her affection, ardent and submissive at the same time, +there was almost as much admiration as love. A woman!... Sagreda for the +first time realized the full significance of this word, as if up to then +he had not understood it. His present companion was a woman; the +nervous, dissatisfied females who had filled his previous existence, +with their painted smiles and voluptuous artifices, belonged to another +species. + +And now that the real woman had arrived, his money was departing +forever!... And when misfortune appeared, love came with it!... Sagreda, +lamenting his lost fortune, struggled hard to maintain his outward +pompous show. He lived as before, in the same house, without retrenching +his budget, making his companion presents of value equal to those that +he had lavished upon his former women friends, enjoying an almost +paternal satisfaction before the childish surprise and the ingenuous +happiness of the poor girl, who was overwhelmed by the brilliant life of +Paris. + +Sagreda was drowning,--drowning!--but with a smile on his lips, content +with himself, with his present life, with this sweet dream, which was to +be the final one and which was lasting miraculously long. Fate, which +had maltreated him in the past few years, consuming the remainders of +his wealth at Monte Carlo, at Ostend and in the notable clubs of the +Boulevard, seemed now to stretch out a helping hand, touched by his new +existence. Every night, after dining with his companion at a fashionable +restaurant, he would leave her at the theatre and go to his club, the +only place where luck awaited him. He did not plunge heavily. Simple +games of écarté with intimate friends, chums of his youth, who continued +their happy career with the aid of great fortunes, or who had settled +down after marrying wealth, retaining among their former habits the +custom of visiting the honorable circle. + +Scarcely did the count take his seat, with his cards in his hand, +opposite one of these friends, when Fortune seemed to hover over his +head, and his friends did not tire of playing, inviting him to a game +every night, as if they stood awaiting their turn. His winnings were +hardly enough to grow wealthy upon; some nights ten _louis_; others +twenty-five; on special occasions Sagreda would retire with as many as +forty gold coins in his pocket. But thanks to this almost daily gain he +was able to fill the gaps of his lordly existence, which threatened to +topple down upon his head, and he maintained his lady companion in +surroundings of loving comfort, at the same time recovering confidence +in his immediate future. Who could tell what was in store for him?... + +Noticing Viscount de la Tresminière in one of the salons he smiled at +him with an expression of friendly challenge. + +"What do you say to a game?" + +"As you wish, my dear _Velazquez_." + +"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me." + +"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me." + +The game commenced under the soft light of the electric bulbs, amid the +soothing silence of soft carpets and thick curtains. + +Sagreda kept winning, as if his kind fate was pleased to extricate him +from the most difficult passes. He won without half trying. It made no +difference that he lacked trumps and that he held bad cards; those of +his rival were always worse, and the result would be miraculously in +harmony with his previous games. + +Already, twenty-five golden _louis_ lay before him. A club companion, +who was wandering from one salon to the other with a bored expression, +stopped near the players interested in the game. At first he remained +standing near Sagreda; then he took up his position behind the viscount, +who seemed to be rendered nervous and perturbed at the fellow's +proximity. + +"But that's awfully silly of you!" the inquisitive newcomer soon +exclaimed. "You're not playing a good game, my dear viscount. You're +laying aside your trumps and using only your bad cards. How stupid of +you!" + +He could say no more. Sagreda threw his cards upon the table. He had +grown terribly white, with a greenish pallor. His eyes, opened +extraordinarily wide, stared at the viscount. Then he rose. + +"I understand," he said coldly. "Allow me to withdraw." + +Then, with a quivering hand, he thrust the heap of gold coins toward his +friend. + +"This belongs to you." + +"But, my dear _Velasquez_.... Why, Sagreda!... Permit me to explain, +dear count!..." + +"Enough, sir. I repeat that I understand." + +His eyes flashed with a strange gleam, the selfsame gleam that his +friends had seen upon various occasions, when after a brief dispute or +an insulting word, he raised his glove in a gesture of challenge. + +But this hostile glance lasted only a moment. Then he smiled with +glacial affability. + +"Many thanks, Viscount. These are favors that are never forgotten.... I +repeat my gratitude." + +And he saluted, like a true noble, walking off proudly erect, the same +as in the most smiling days of his opulence. + + * * * * * + +With his fur coat open, displaying his immaculate shirt bosom, Count de +Sagreda promenades along the boulevard. The crowds are issuing from the +theatres; the women are crossing from one sidewalk to the other; +automobiles with lighted interiors roll by, affording a momentary +glimpse of plumes, jewels and white bosoms; the news-vendors shout their +wares; at the top of the buildings huge electrical advertisements blaze +forth and go out in rapid succession. + +The Spanish grandee, the _hidalgo_, the descendant of the noble knights +of the _Cid_ and _Ruy Blas_, walks against the current, elbowing his way +through the crowd, desiring to hasten as fast as possible, without any +particular objective in view. + +To contract debts!... Very well. Debts do not dishonor a nobleman. But +to receive alms?... seeing his friends desert him, of descending to the +lowest depths, being lost in the social substratum. But to arouse +compassion.... + +The comedy was useless. The intimate friends who smiled at him in former +times had penetrated the secret of his poverty and had been moved by +pity to get together and take turns at giving him alms under the pretext +of gambling with him. And likewise his other friends, and even the +servants who bowed to him with their accustomed respect as he passed by, +were in the secret. And he, the poor dope, was going about with his +lordly airs, stiff and solemn in his extinct grandeur, like the corpse +of the legendary chieftain, which, after his death, was mounted on +horseback and sallied forth to win battles. + +Farewell, Count de Sagreda! The heir of governors and viceroys can +become a nameless soldier in a legion of desperadoes and bandits; he can +begin life anew as an adventurer in virgin lands, killing that he may +live; he can even watch with impassive countenance the wreck of his name +and his family history, before the bench of a tribunal.... But to live +upon the compassion of his friends!... + +Farewell forever, final illusions! The count has forgotten his +companion, who is waiting for him at a night restaurant. He does not +think of her; it is as if he never had seen her; as if she had never +existed. He thinks not at all of that which but a few hours before had +made life worth living. He walks along, alone with his disgrace, and +each step of his seems to draw from the earth a dead thing; an ancestral +influence, a racial prejudice, a family boast, dormant hauteur, honor +and fierce pride, and as these awake, they oppress his breast and cloud +his thoughts. + +How they must have laughed at him behind his back, with condescending +pity!... Now he walks along more hurriedly than ever, as if he has at +last made up his mind just where he is going, and his emotion leads him +unconsciously to murmur with irony, as if he is speaking to somebody who +is at his heels and whom he desires to flee. + +"Many thanks! Many thanks!" + +Just before dawn two revolver shots astound the guests of a hotel in the +vicinity of the _Gare Saint-Lazare_,--one of those ambiguous +establishments that offers a safe shelter for amorous acquaintances +begun on the thoroughfare. + +The attendants find in one of the rooms a gentleman dressed in evening +clothes, with a hole in his head, through which escape bloody strips of +flesh. The man writhes like a worm upon the threadbare carpet. + +His eyes, of a dull black, still glitter with life. There is nothing +left in them of the image of his sweet companion. His last thought, +interrupted by death, is of friendship, terrible in its pity; of the +fraternal insult of a generous, light-hearted compassion. + + + + +THE WINDFALL + + +"I, sir," said _Magdalena_, the bugler of the prison, "am no saint; I've +been jailed many times for robberies; some of them that really took +place and others that I was simply suspected of. Compared to you, who +are a gentleman, and are in prison for having written things in the +papers, I'm a mere wretch.... But take my word for it, this time I'm +here for good." + +And raising one hand to his breast as he straightened his head with a +certain pride, he added, "Petty thefts, that's all.... I'm not brave; I +haven't shed a drop of blood." + +At break of day, _Magdalena's_ bugle resounded through the spacious +yard, embroidering its reveille with scales and trills. During the day, +with the martial instrument hanging from his neck, or caressing it with +a corner of his smock so as to wipe off the vapor with which the +dampness of the prison covered it, he would go through the entire +edifice,--an ancient convent in whose refectories, granaries, and +garrets there were crowded, in perspiring confusion, almost a thousand +men. + +He was the clock that governed the life and the activities of this mass +of male flesh perpetually seething with hatred. He made the round of the +cells to announce, with sonorous blasts, the arrival of the worthy +director, or a visit from the authorities; from the progress of the sun +along the white walls of the prison-yard he could tell the approach of +the visiting hours,--the best part of the day,--and with his tongue +stuck between his lips he would await orders impatiently, ready to burst +into the joyous signal that sent the flock of prisoners scampering over +the stairways in an anxious run toward the locutories, where a wretched +crowd of women and children buzzed in conversation; his insatiable +hunger kept him pacing back and forth in the vicinity of the old +kitchen, in which the enormous stews filled the atmosphere with a +nauseating odor, and he bemoaned the indifference of the chef, who was +always late in giving the order for the mess-call. + +Those imprisoned for crimes of blood, heroes of the dagger who had +killed their man in a fierce brawl or in a dispute over a woman and who +formed an aristocracy that disdained the petty thieves, looked upon the +bugler as the butt for pranks with which to while away their boredom. + +"Blow!" would come the command from some formidable fellow, proud of his +crimes and his courage. + +And _Magdalena_ would draw himself up with military rigidity, close his +mouth and inflate his cheeks, momentarily expecting two blows, delivered +simultaneously by both hands, to expel the air from the ruddy globe of +his face. At other times these redoubtable personages tested the +strength of their arms upon _Magdalena's_ pate, which was bare with the +baldness of repugnant diseases, and they would howl with laughter at the +damage done to their fists by the protuberances of the hard skull. The +bugler lent himself to these tortures with the humility of a whipped +dog, and found a certain revenge in repeating, afterwards, those words +that were a solace to him: + +"I'm good; I'm not a brave fellow. Petty thefts, that's all.... But as +to blood, not a single drop." + +Visiting time brought his wife, the notorious _Peluchona_, a valiant +creature who inspired him with great fear. She was the mistress of one +of the most dangerous bandits in the jail. Daily she brought that fellow +food, procuring these dainties at the cost of all manner of vile labors. +The bugler, upon beholding her, would leave the lucutory, fearing the +arrogance of her bandit mate, who would take advantage of the occasion +to humiliate him before his former companion. Many times a certain +feeling of curiosity and tenderness got the better of his fear, and he +would advance timidly, looking beyond the thick bars for the head of a +child that came with _la Peluchona_. + +"That's my son, sir," he said humbly. "My Tonico, who no longer knows me +or remembers me. They say that he doesn't resemble me at all. Perhaps +he's not mine.... You can imagine, with the life his mother has always +led, living near the garrisons, washing the soldiers' clothes!... But he +was born in my home; I held him in my arms when he was ill, and that's a +bond as close as ties of blood." + +Then he would resume his timid lurking about the locutory, as if +preparing one of his robberies, to see his Tonico; and when he could see +him for a moment, the sight was enough to extinguish his helpless rage +before the full basket of lunch that the evil woman brought to her +lover. + +_Magdalena's_ whole existence was summed up in two facts; he had robbed +and he had travelled much. The robberies were insignificant; clothes or +money snatched in the street, because he lacked courage for greater +deeds. His travels had been compulsory,--always on foot, over the roads +of Spain, marching in a chain gang of convicts, between the polished or +white three-cornered hats that guarded the prisoners. + +After having been a "pupil" among the buglers of a regiment, he had +launched upon his life of continuous imprisonment, punctuated by brief +periods of freedom, in which he lost his bearings, not knowing what to +do with himself and wishing to return as soon as possible to jail. It +was the perpetual chain, but finished link by link, as he used to say. + +The police never organized a round-up of dangerous persons but what +_Magdalena_ was found among them,--a timorous rat whose name the papers +mentioned like that of a terrible criminal. He was always included in +the trail of vagrant suspects who, without being charged with any +specific crime, were sent from province to province by the authorities, +in the hope that they would die of hunger along the roads, and thus he +had covered the whole peninsula on foot, from Cádiz to Santander, from +Valencia to La Coruna. With what enthusiasm he recalled his travels! He +spoke of them as if they were joyous excursions, just like a wandering +charity-student of the old _Tuna_ converting his tales into courses in +picturesque geography. With hungry delight he recollected the abundant +milk of Galicia, the red sausages of Extramadura, the Castilian bread, +the Basque apples, the wines and ciders of all the districts he had +traversed, with his luggage on his shoulder. Guards were changed every +day,--some of them kind or indifferent, others ill-humored and cruel, +who made all the prisoners fear a couple of shots fired beyond the ruts +of the road, followed by the papers justifying the killing as having +been caused by an attempt at flight. With a certain nostalgia he evoked +the memory of mountains covered with snow or reddened and striped by the +sun; the slow procession along the white road that was lost in the +horizon, like an endless ribbon; the highlands, under the trees, in the +hot noon hours; the storms that assailed them upon the highways; +inundated ravines that forced them to camp out in the open; the arrival, +late at night, at certain town prisons, old convents or abandoned +churches, in which every man hunted up a dry corner, protected from +draughts, where he could stretch his mat; the endless journey with all +the long halts in spots where life was so monotonous that the presence +of a group of prisoners was an event; the urchins would come running up +to the bars to speak with them, while the girls, impelled by morbid +curiosity, would approach within a short distance, to hear their songs +and their obscene language. + +"Some mighty interesting travels, sir," continued the robber. "For those +of us who had good health and didn't drop by the roadside it was the +same as a strolling band of students. Now and then a drubbing, but who +pays any attention to such things!... They don't have these +_conductions_ now; prisoners are transported by railroad, caged up in +the cars. Besides I am held for a criminal offense, and I must live +inside the walls ... jailed for good." + +And again he began to lament his bad luck, relating the final deed that +had landed him in jail. + +It was a suffocating Sunday in July; an afternoon in which the streets +of Valencia seemed to be deserted, under the burning sun and a wind like +a furnace blast that came from the baked plains of the interior. +Everybody was at the bull-fight or at the sea-shore. _Magdalena_ was +approached by his friend _Chamorra_, an old prison traveling companion, +who exercised a certain influence over him. That _Chamorra_ was a bad +soul! A thief, but of the sort that go the limit, not recoiling before +the necessity of shedding blood and with his knife always handy beside +his skeleton-keys. It was a matter of cleaning out a certain house, upon +which this fearful fellow had set his eye. _Magdalena_ modestly excused +himself. He wasn't made for such things; he couldn't go so far. As for +gliding up to a roof and pulling down the clothes that had been hung out +to dry, or snatching a woman's purse with a quick pull and making off +with it ... all right. But to break into a house, and face the mystery +of a dwelling, in which the people might be at home?... + +But _Chamorra's_ threatening look inspired him with greater fear than +did the anticipation of such an encounter, and he finally consented. +Very well; he would go as an assistant,--to carry the spoils, but ready +to flee at the slightest alarm. And he refused to accept an old +jack-knife that his companion offered him. He was consistent. + +"Petty thefts aplenty; but as to blood, not a single drop." + +Late in the afternoon they entered the narrow vestibule of a house that +had no janitor, and whose inhabitants were all away. _Chamorra_ knew his +victim; a comfortably fixed artisan who must have a neat little pile +saved up. He was surely at the beach with his wife or at the bull-fight. +Above, the door of the apartment yielded easily, and the two companions +began to work in the gloom of the shuttered windows. + +_Chamorra_ forced the locks of two chiffoniers and a closet. There was +silver coin, copper coin, several bank-notes rolled up at the bottom of +a fan-case, the wedding-jewelry, a clock. Not a bad haul. His anxious +looks wandered over the place, seeking to make off with everything that +could be carried. He lamented the uselessness of _Magdalena_, who, +restless with fear and with his arms hanging limp at his sides, was +pacing to and fro without knowing what to do. + +"Take the quilts," ordered _Chamorra_, "we're sure to get something for +the wool." And _Magdalena_, eager to finish the job as soon as possible, +penetrated into the dark alcove, gropingly passing a rope underneath the +quilts and the bed-sheets. Then, aided by his friend, he hurriedly made +a bundle of everything, casting the voluminous burden upon his +shoulders. + +They left without being detected, and walked off in the direction of the +outskirts of the town, toward a shanty of Arrancapinos, where _Chamorra_ +had his haunt. The latter walked ahead, ready to run at the first sign +of danger; _Magdalena_ followed, trotting along, almost hidden beneath +the tremendous load, fearing to feel at any moment the hand of the +police upon his neck. + +Upon examining the proceeds of the robbery in the remote corral, +_Chamorra_ exhibited the arrogance of a lion, granting his accomplice a +few copper coins. This must be enough for the moment. He did this for +_Magdalena's_ own good, as _Magdalena_ was such a spendthrift. Later he +would give more. + +Then they untied the bundle of quilts, and _Chamorra_ bent over, his +hands on his hips, exploding with laughter. What a find!... What a +present! + +_Magdalena_ likewise burst into guffaws, for the first time that +afternoon. Upon the bed-clothes lay an infant, dressed only in a little +shirt, its eyes shut and its face purple from suffocation, but moving +its chest with difficulty at feeling the first caress of fresh air. +_Magdalena_ recalled the vague sensation he had experienced during his +journey hither,--that of something alive moving inside the thick load on +his back. A weak, suffocated whining pursued him in his flight.... The +mother had left the little one asleep in the cool darkness of the +alcove, and they, without knowing it, had carried it off together with +the bed-clothes. + +_Magdalena's_ frightened eyes now looked questioningly at his companion. +What were they to do with the child?... But that evil soul was laughing +away like a very demon. + +"It's yours; I present it to you.... Eat it with potatoes." + +And he went off with all the spoils. _Magdalena_ was left standing in +doubt, while he cradled the child in his arms. The poor little thing!... +It looked just like his own Tono, when he was ill and leaned his little +head upon his father's bosom, while the parent wept, fearing for the +child's life. The same little soft, pink feet; the same downy flesh, +with skin as soft as silk.... The infant had ceased to cry, looking with +surprised eyes at the robber, who was caressing it like a nurse. + +"Lullaby, my poor little thing! There, there, my little king ... child +Jesus! Look at me. I'm your uncle." + +But _Magdalena_ stopped laughing, thinking of the mother, of her +desperate grief when she would return to the house. The loss of her +little fortune would be her least concern. The child! Where was she to +find her child?... He knew what mothers were like. _Peluchona_ was the +worst of women, yet he had seen even her weep and moan before her little +one in danger. + +He gazed toward the sun, which was beginning to sink in a majestic +summer sunset. There was still time to take the infant back to the house +before its parents would return. And if he should encounter them, he +would lie, saying that he found the infant in the middle of the street; +he would extricate himself as well as he could. Forward; he had never +felt so brave. + +Carrying the infant in his arms he walked at ease through the very +streets over which he had lately hastened with the anxious gait of fear. +He mounted the staircase without encountering anybody. Above, the same +solitude. The door was still open, the bolt forced. Within, the +disordered rooms, the broken furniture, the drawers upon the floor, the +overturned chairs and clothes strewn about, filled him with a sensation +of terror similar to that which assails the assassin who returns to +contemplate the corpse of his victim some time after the crime. + +He gave a last fond kiss to the child and left it upon the bed. + +"Good-bye, my pet!" + +But as he approached the head of the staircase he heard footsteps, and +in the rectangle of light that entered through the open door there +bulked the silhouette of a corpulent man. At the same time there rang +out the shrill shriek of a female voice, trembling with fright: + +"Robbers!... Help!" + +_Magdalena_ tried to escape, opening a passage for himself with his head +lowered, like a cornered rat; but he felt himself seized by a pair of +Cyclopean arms, accustomed to beating iron, and with a mighty thrust he +was sent rolling down the stairs. + +On his face there were still signs of the bruises he had received from +contact with the steps, and from the blows rained upon him by the +infuriated neighbors. + +"In sum, sir. Breaking and entering. I'll get out in heaven knows how +many years.... All for being kind-hearted. To make matters worse, they +don't even give me any consideration, looking upon me as a clever +criminal. Everybody knows that the real thief was _Chamorra_ whom I +haven't seen since.... And they ridicule me for a silly fool." + + + + +LUXURY + + +"I had her on my lap," said my friend Martinez, "and the warm weight of +her healthy body was beginning to tire me. + +"The scene ... same as usual in such places. Mirrors with blemished +surfaces, and names scratched across them, like spiders' webs; sofas of +discolored velvet, with springs that creaked atrociously; the bed +decorated with theatrical hangings, as clean and common as a sidewalk, +and on the walls, pictures of bull-fighters and cheap chromos of angelic +virgins smelling a rose or languorously contemplating a bold hunter. + +"The scenery was that of the favorite cell in the convent of vice; an +elegant room reserved for distinguished patrons; and she was a healthy, +robust creature, who seemed to bring a whiff of the pure mountain air +into the heavy atmosphere of this closed house, saturated with cheap +cologne, rice powder and the vapor from dirty wash-basins. + +"As she spoke to me she stroked the ribbons of her gown with childish +complacency; it was a fine piece of satin, of screaming yellow, somewhat +too tight for her body, a dress which I recalled having seen months +before on the delicate charms of another girl, who had since died, +according to reports, in the hospital. + +"Poor girl! She had become a sight! Her coarse, abundant hair, combed in +Greek fashion, was adorned with glass beads; her cheeks, shiny from the +dew of perspiration, were covered with a thick layer of cosmetic; and as +if to reveal her origin, her arms, which were firm, swarthy and of +masculine proportions, escaped from the ample sleeves of her chorus-girl +costume. + +"As she saw me follow with attentive glance all the details of her +extravagant array, she thought that I was admiring her, and threw her +head back with a petulant expression. + +"And such a simple creature!... She hadn't yet become acquainted with +the customs of the house, and told the truth,--all the truth--to the men +who wished to know her history. They called her Flora; but her real name +was Mari-Pepa. She wasn't the orphan of a colonel or a magistrate, nor +did she concoct the complicated tales of love and adventure that her +companions did, in order to justify their presence in such a place. The +truth; always the truth; she would yet be hanged for her frankness. Her +parents were comfortably situated farmers in a little town of Aragón; +owned their fields, had two mules in the barn, bread, wine, and enough +potatoes for the year round; and at night the best fellows in the place +came one after the other to soften her heart with serenade upon +serenade, trying to carry off her dark, healthy person together with the +four orchards she had inherited from her grandfather. + +"'But what could you expect, my dear fellow?... I couldn't bear those +people. They were too coarse for me. I was born to be a lady. And tell +me, why can't I be? Don't I look as good as any of them?...' + +"And she snuggled her head against my shoulder, like the docile +sweetheart she was,--a slave subjected to all sorts of caprices in +exchange for being clothed handsomely. + +"'Those fellows,' she continued, 'made me sick. I ran off with the +student,--understand?--the son of the town magistrate, and we wandered +about until he deserted me, and I landed here, waiting for something +better to turn up. You see, it's a short tale.... I don't complain of +anything. I'm satisfied.' + +"And to show how happy she was, the unhappy girl rode astride my legs, +thrust her hard fingers through my hair, rumpling it, and sang a tango +in horrible fashion, in her strong, peasant voice. + +"I confess that I was seized with an impulse to speak to her 'in the +name of morality,'--that hypocritical desire we all possess to propagate +virtue when we are sated and desire is dead. + +"She raised her eyes, astonished to see me look so solemn, preaching to +her, like a missionary glorifying chastity with a prostitute on his +knees; her gaze wandered continually from my austere countenance to the +bed close by. Her common sense was baffled before the incongruity +between such virtue and the excesses of a moment before. + +"Suddenly she seemed to understand, and an outburst of laughter swelled +her fleshy neck." + +"'The deuce!... How amusing you are! And with what a face you say all +these things! Just like the priest of my home town ...' + +"No, Pepa, I'm serious. I believe you're a good girl; you don't realize +what you've gone into, and I'm warning you. You've fallen very low, very +low. You're at the bottom. Even within the career of vice, the majority +of women resist and deny the caresses that are required of you in this +house. There is yet time for you to save yourself. Your parents have +enough for you to live on; you didn't come here under the necessity of +poverty. Return to your home, and the past will be forgotten; you can +tell them a lie, invent some sort of tale to justify your flight, and +who knows?... One of the fellows that used to serenade you will marry +you, you'll have children and you'll be a respectable woman. + +"The girl became serious when she saw that I was speaking in earnest. +Little by little she began to slip from my knees until she was on her +feet, eyeing me fixedly, as if she saw before her some strange person +and an invisible wall had arisen between the two. + +"'Go back to my home!' she exclaimed in harsh accents. 'Many thanks. I +know very well what that means. Get up before dawn, work like a slave, +go out in the fields, ruin your hands with callouses. Look, see how my +hands still show them.' + +"And she made me feel the rough lumps that rose on the palms of her +strong hands. + +"'And all this, in exchange for what? For being respectable?... Not a +bit of it! I'm not that crazy. So much for respectability!' + +"And she accompanied these words with some indecent motions that she had +picked up from her companions. + +"Afterwards, humming a tune, she went over to the mirror to survey +herself, and smilingly greeted the reflection of her powdered hair, +covered with false pearls, which shone out of the cracked mirror. She +contracted her lips, which were rouged like those of a clown. + +"Growing more and more firm in my virtuous rôle, I continued to +sermonize her from my chair, enveloping this hypocritical propaganda in +sonorous words. She was making a bad choice; she must think of the +future. The present could not be worse. What was she? Less than a slave; +a piece of furniture; they exploited her, they robbed her, and +afterwards ... afterwards it would be still worse; the hospital, +repulsive diseases ... + +"But again her harsh laughter interrupted me. + +"'Quit it, boy. Don't bother me.' + +"And planting herself before me she wrapped me in a gaze of infinite +compassion. + +"'Why my dear fellow, how silly you are! Do you imagine that I can go +back to that dog's life, after having tasted this one?... No, sir! I was +born for luxury.' + +"And, with devoted admiration sweeping her glance across the broken +chairs, the faded sofa, and that bed which was a public thoroughfare, +she began to walk up and down, revelling in the rustle of her train as +it dragged across the room, and caressing the folds of that gown which +seemed to preserve the warmth of the other girl's body." + + + + +RABIES + + +From all the countryside the neighbors of the _huerta_ flocked to +_Caldera's_ cabin, entering it with a certain meekness, a mingling of +emotion and fear. + +How was the boy? Was he improving?... Uncle Pascal, surrounded by his +wife, his daughters-in-law and even the most distant relatives, who had +been gathered together by misfortune, received with melancholy +satisfaction this interest of the entire vicinity in the health of his +son. Yes, he was getting better. For two days he had not been attacked +by that horrible _thing_ which set the cabin in commotion. And +_Caldera's_ laconic farmer friends, as well as the women, who were +vociferous in the expression of their emotions, appeared at the +threshold of the room, asking timidly, "How do you feel?" + +The only son of _Caldera_ was in there, sometimes in bed, in obedience +to his mother, who could conceive of no illness without the cup of hot +water and seclusion between the bed-sheets; at other times he sat up, +his jaws supported by his hands, gazing obstinately into the furthermost +corner of the room. His father, wrinkling his shaggy white brows, would +walk about when left alone, or, through force of habit, take a look at +the neighboring fields, but without any desire to bend over and pluck +out any of the weeds that were beginning to sprout in the furrows. Much +this land mattered to him now,--the earth in whose bowels he had left +the sweat of his body and the strength of his limbs!... His son was all +he had,--the fruit of a late marriage,--and he was a sturdy youth, as +industrious and taciturn as his father; a soldier of the soil, who +required neither orders nor threat to fulfil his duties; ready to awake +at midnight when it was his turn to irrigate his land and give the +fields drink under the light of the stars; quick to spring from his bed +on the hard kitchen bench, throwing off the covers and putting on his +hemp sandals at the sound of the early rooster's reveille. + +Uncle Pascal had never smiled. He was the Latin type of father; the +fearful master of the house, who, on returning from his labors, ate +alone, served by his wife, who stood by with an expression of +submission. But this grave, harsh mask of an omnipotent master concealed +a boundless admiration for his son, who was his best work. How quickly +he loaded a cart! How he perspired as he managed the hoe with a vigorous +forward and backward motion that seemed to cleave him at the waist! Who +could ride a pony like him, gracefully jumping on to his back by simply +resting the toe of a sandal upon the hind legs of the animal?... He +didn't touch wine, never got mixed up in a brawl, nor was he afraid of +work. Through good luck he had pulled a high number in the military +draft, and when the feast of San Juan came around he intended to marry a +girl from a near-by farm,--a maiden that would bring with her a few +pieces of earth when she came to the cabin of her new parents. +Happiness; an honorable and peaceful continuation of the family +traditions; another _Caldera_, who, when Uncle Pascal grew old, would +continue to work the lands that had been fructified by his ancestors, +while a troop of little _Calderitas_, increasing in number each year, +would play around the nag harnessed to the plow, eyeing with a certain +awe their grandpa, his eyes watery from age and his words very concise, +as he sat in the sun at the cabin door. + +Christ! And how man's illusions vanish!... One Saturday, as Pascualet +was coming home from his sweetheart's house, along one of the paths of +the _huerta_, about midnight, a dog had bitten him; a wretched, silent +animal that jumped out from behind a sluice; as the young man crouched +to throw a stone at it, the dog bit into his shoulder. His mother, who +used to wait for him on the nights when he went courting, burst into +wailing when she saw the livid semicircle, with its red stain left by +the dog's teeth, and she bustled about the hut preparing poultices and +drinks. + +The youth laughed at his mother's fears. "Quiet, mother, quiet!" It +wasn't the first time that a dog had bitten him. His body still showed +faint signs of bites that he had received in childhood, when he used to +go through the _huerta_ throwing stones at the dogs. Old _Caldera_ spoke +to him from bed, without displaying any emotion. On the following day he +was to go to the veterinary and have his flesh cauterized by a burning +iron. So he ordered, and there was nothing further to be said about the +matter. The young man submitted without flinching to the operation, like +a good, brave chap of the Valencian _huerta_. He had four days' rest in +all, and even at that, his fondness for work caused him new sufferings +and he aided his father with pain-tortured arm. Saturdays, when he came +to his sweetheart's farmhouse, she always asked after his health. "How's +the bite getting along?" He would shrug his shoulders gleefully before +the eyes of the maiden and the two would finally sit down in a corner of +the kitchen, remaining in mute contemplation of each other, or speaking +of the clothes and the bed for their future home, without daring to come +close to each other; there they sat erect and solemn, leaving between +their bodies a space "wide enough for a sickle to pass through," as the +girl's father smilingly put it. + +More than a month passed by. _Caldera's_ wife was the only one that did +not forget the accident. She followed her son about with anxious +glances. Ah, sovereign queen! The _huerta_ seemed to have been abandoned +by God and His holy mother. Over at Templat's cabin a child was +suffering the agonies of hell through having been bitten by a mad dog. +All the _huerta_ folk were running in terror to have a look at the poor +creature; a spectacle that she herself did not dare to gaze upon because +she was thinking of her own son. If her Pascualet, as tall and sturdy as +a tower, were to meet with the same fate as that unfortunate child!... + +One day, at dawn, _Caldera's_ son was unable to arise from his kitchen +bench, and his mother helped him walk to the large nuptial bed, which +occupied a part of the _estudi_, the best room in the cabin. He was +feverish, and complained of acute pain in the spot where he had been +bitten; an awful chill ran through his whole body, making his teeth +chatter and veiling his eyes with a yellowish opacity. Don Jose, the +oldest doctor in the _huerta_, came on his ancient mare, with his +eternal recipe of purgatives for every class of illness, and bandages +soaked in salt water for wounds. Upon examining the sick man he made a +wry face. Bad! Bad! This was a more serious matter; they would have to +go to the solemn doctors in Valencia, who knew more than he. _Caldera's_ +wife saw her husband harness the cart and compel Pascualet to get into +it. The boy, relieved of his pain, smiled assent, saying that now he +felt nothing more than a slight twinge. When they returned to the cabin +the father seemed to be more at ease. A doctor from the city had pricked +Pascualet's sore. He was a very serious gentleman, who gave Pascualet +courage with his kind words, looking intently at him all the while, and +expressing regret that he had waited so long before coming to him. For a +week the two men made a daily trip to Valencia, but one morning the boy +was unable to move. That crisis which made the poor mother groan with +fear had returned with greater intensity than before. The boy's teeth +knocked together, and he uttered a wail that stained the corners of his +mouth with froth; his eyes seemed to swell, becoming yellow and +protruding like huge grape seeds; he tried to pull himself together, +writhing from the internal torture, and his mother hung upon his neck, +shrieking with terror; meanwhile _Caldera_, grimly silent, seized his +son's arms with tranquil strength, struggling to prevent his violent +convulsions. + +"My son! My son!" cried the mother. Ah, her son! Scarcely could she +recognize him as she saw him in this condition. He seemed like another, +as if only his former exterior had remained,--as if an infernal monster +had lodged within and was martyrizing this flesh that had come out of +her own womb, appearing at his eyes with livid flashes. + +Afterwards came calm stupor, and all the women of the district gathered +in the kitchen and deliberated upon the lot of the sick youth, cursing +the city doctor and his diabolical incisions. It was his fault that the +boy now lay thus; before the boy had submitted to the cure he had felt +much better. The bandit! And the government never punished these wicked +souls!... There were no other remedies than the old, true and tried +ones,--the product of the experience of people who had lived years ago +and thus knew much more. One of the neighbors went off to hunt up a +certain witch, a miraculous doctor for dog-bites, serpent bites and +scorpion-stings. Another brought a blind old goatherd, who could cure by +the virtue of his mouth, simply by making some crosses of saliva over +the ailing flesh. The drinks made of mountain herbs and the moist signs +of the goatherd were looked upon as tokens of immediate cure, especially +when they beheld the sick youth lie silent and motionless for several +hours, looking at the ground with a certain amazement, as if he could +feel within him the progress of something strange that grew and grew, +gradually overpowering him. Then, when the crisis re-occurred, the doubt +of the women began to rise, and new remedies were discussed. The youth's +sweetheart came, with her large black eyes moistened by tears, and she +advanced timidly until she came near to the sick boy. For the first time +she dared to take his hand, blushing beneath her cinnamon-colored +complexion at this audacious act. "How do you feel?"... And he, so +loving in other days, recoiled from her tender touch, turning his eyes +away so that he should not see her, as if ashamed of his plight. His +mother wept. Queen of heaven! He was very low; he was going to die. If +only they could find out what dog it was that had bitten him, and cut +out its tongue, using it for a miraculous plaster, as experienced +persons advised!... + +Throughout the _huerta_ it seemed that God's own wrath had burst forth. +Some dogs had bitten others; now nobody knew which were the dangerous +ones and which the safe. All mad! The children were secluded in the +cabins, spying with terrified glances upon the vast fields, through the +half-open doors; mothers journeyed over the winding paths in close +groups, uneasy, trembling, hastening their step whenever a bark sounded +from behind the sluices of the canals; men eyed the domestic dogs with +fear, intently watching their slavering mouths as they gasped or their +sad eyes; the agile greyhound, their hunting companion,--the barking +cur, guardian of the home,--the ugly mastiff who walked along tied to +the cart, which he watched over during the master's absence,--all were +placed under their owners' observation or coldly sacrificed behind the +walls of the corral, without any display of emotion whatever. + +"Here they come! Here they come!" was the shout passed along from cabin +to cabin, announcing the patter of a pack of dogs, howling, ravenous, +their bodies covered with mud, running about without finding rest, +driven on day and night, with the madness of persecution in their eyes. +The _huerta_ seemed to shudder, closing the doors of all the houses and +suddenly bristling with guns. Shots rang out from the sluices, from the +high corn-fields, from cabin windows, and when the wanderers, repelled +and persecuted on every side, in their mad gallop dashed toward the sea, +as if they were attracted by the moist, invigorating air that was washed +by the waves, the revenue-guards camped on the wide strip of beach +brought their mausers to their cheeks and received them with a volley. +The dogs retreated, escaping among the men who were approaching them +musket in hand, and one or another of them would be stretched out at the +edge of the canal. At night, the noisy gloom of the plain was broken by +the sight of distant flashes and the sound of discharges. Every shape +that moved in the darkness was the target for a bullet; the muffled +howls that sounded in the vicinity of the cabins were answered by shots. +The men were afraid of this common terror, and avoided meeting. + +No sooner did night fall than the _huerta_ was left without a light, +without a person upon the roads, as if death had taken possession of the +dismal plain, so green and smiling under the sun. A single red spot, a +tear of light, trembled in this obscurity. It was _Caldera's_ cabin, +where the women, squatting upon the floor, around the kitchen lamp, +sighed with fright, anticipating the strident shriek of the sick +youth,--the chattering of his teeth, the violent contortions of his body +whenever he was seized with convulsions, struggling to repel the arms +that tried to quiet him. + +The mother hung upon the neck of that raving patient who struck terror +to men. She scarcely knew him; he was somebody else, with those eyes +that popped out of their sockets, his livid or blackish countenance, his +writhings, like that of a tortured animal, showing his tongue as he +gasped through bubbles of froth in the agonies of an insatiable thirst. +He begged for death in heart-rending shrieks; he struck his head against +the wall; he tried to bite; but even so, he was her child and she did +not feel the fear experienced by the others. His menacing mouth withdrew +before the wan face that was moistened with tears. "Mother! Mother!" He +recognized her in his lucid moments. She need not fear him; he would +never bite her. And as if he must sink his teeth into something or other +to glut his rage, he bit into his arms until the blood came. + +"My son! My son!" moaned the mother and she wiped the deadly froth from +his lips, afterwards carrying the handkerchief to her eyes, without fear +of contagion. _Caldera_, in his solemn gravity, paid no heed to the +sufferer's threatening eyes, which were fixed upon him with an impulse +of attack. The boy had lost his awe of his father. + +That powerful man, however, facing the peril of his son's mouth, thrust +him back into bed whenever the madman tried to flee, as if he must +spread everywhere the horrible affliction that was devouring his +entrails. + +No longer were the crises followed by extended intervals of calm. They +became almost continuous, and the victim writhed about, clawed and +bleeding from his own bites, his face almost black, his eyes tremulous +and yellow, looking like some monstrous beast set apart from all the +human species. The old doctor had stopped asking about the youth. What +was the use? It was all over. The women wept hopelessly. Death was +certain. They only bewailed the long hours, perhaps days, of horrible +torture that poor Pascualet would have to undergo. + +_Caldera_ was unable to find among his relatives or friends any men +brave enough to help him restrain the sufferer in his violent moments. +They all looked with terror at the door to the _estudi_, as if behind it +were concealed the greatest of dangers. To go shooting through roads and +canals was man's work. A stab could be returned; one bullet could answer +another; but ah! that frothing mouth which killed with a bite!... that +incurable disease which made men writhe in endless agony, like a lizard +sliced by a hoe! + +He no longer knew his mother. In his final moments of lucidity he had +thrust her away with loving brusqueness. She must go!... Let him not see +her again!... He feared to do her harm! The poor woman's friends dragged +her out of the room, forcing her to remain motionless, like her son, in +a corner of the kitchen. _Caldera_, with a supreme effort of his dying +will, tied the agonizing youth to the bed. His beetling brows trembled +and the tears made him blink as he tied the coarse knots of the rope, +fastening the youth to the bed upon which he had been born. He felt as +if he were preparing his son for burial and had begun to dig his grave. +The victim twisted in wild contortions under the father's strong arms; +the parent had to make a powerful effort to subdue him under the rope +that sank into his flesh.... To have lived so many years only to behold +himself at last obliged to perform such a task! To give life to a +creature, only to pray that it might be extinguished as soon as +possible, horrified by so much useless pain!... Good God in heaven! Why +not put an end to the poor boy at once, since his death was now +inevitable?... + +He closed the door of the sick room, fleeing from the rasping shriek +that set everybody's hair on end; but the madman's panting continued to +sound in the silence of the cabin, accompanied by the lamentations of +the mother and the weeping of the other women grouped around the lamp +that had just been lighted. + +_Caldera_ stamped upon the floor. Let the women be silent! But for the +first time he beheld himself disobeyed, and he left the cabin, fleeing +from this chorus of grief. + +Night descended. His gaze wandered toward the thin yellow band that was +visible on the horizon, marking the flight of day. Above his head shone +the stars. From the other homes, which were scarcely visible, resounded +the neighing of horses, barking, and the clucking of fowl--the last +signs of animal life before it sank to rest. That primitive man felt an +impression of emptiness amid the Nature which was insensible and blind +to the sufferings of its creatures. Of what concern to the points of +light that looked down upon him from above could be that which he was +now going through?... All creatures were equal; the beasts that +disturbed the silence of dusk before falling asleep, and that poor youth +similar to him, who now lay fettered, writhing in the worst of agony. +How many illusions his life had contained!... And with a mere bite, a +wretched animal kicked about by all men could finish them all. And no +remedy existed in heaven or upon earth!... + +Once again the distant shriek of the sufferer came to his ears from the +open window of the _estudi_. The tenderness of his early days of +paternity emerged from the depths of his soul. He recalled the nights he +had spent awake in that room, walking up and down, holding in his arms +the little child that was crying from the pains of infancy's illness. +Now he lay crying, too, but without hope, in the agonies of a hell that +had come before its time, and at last ... death. + +His countenance grew frightened, and he raised his hands to his forehead +as if trying to drive away a troublesome thought. Then he appeared to +deliberate.... Why not?... + +"To end his suffering ... to end his suffering!" + +He went back to the cabin, only to come out at once with his old +double-barrelled musket, and he hastened to the little window of the +sick room as if he feared to lose his determination; he thrust the gun +through the opening. + +Again he heard the agonizing panting, the chattering of teeth, the +horrible shriek, now very near, as if he were at the victim's bedside. +His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, saw the bed at the back of the +gloomy room, and the form that lay writhing in it--the pale spot of the +face, appearing and disappearing as the sick man twisted about +desperately. + +The father was frightened at the trembling of his hands and the +agitation of his pulse; he, the son of the _huerta_, without any other +diversion than the hunt, accustomed to shoot down birds almost without +aiming at them. + +The wailing of the poor mother brought back to his memory other groans +of long long ago--twenty-two years before--when she was giving birth to +her only son upon that same bed. + +To come to such an end!... His eyes, gazing heavenward, saw a black sky, +intensely black, with not a star in sight, and obscured by his +tears.... + +"Lord! To end his sufferings! To end his sufferings!" + +And repeating these words he pressed the musket against his shoulder, +seeking the lock with a tremulous finger.... Bang! Bang! + + * * * * * + + + INTERNATIONAL: POCKET: LIBRARY + + + 1. MADEMOISELLE FIFI _Guy de Maupassant_ + + Introduction by Joseph Conrad + + 2. TWO TALES _Rudyard Kipling_ + + Foreword by Wilson Follett + + 3. TWO WESSEX TALES _Thomas Hardy_ + + Introduction by Conrad Aiken + + 4. MODERN RUSSIAN CLASSICS + + Stories by Andreyev, Solgub, Gorki, Tchekov, + Babel, and Artzibashev. Foreword by Issac Goldberg + + 5. CANDIDE _Voltaire_ + + Introduction by Andre Morize + + 6. THE LAST LION _Vicente Blasco Ibáñez_ + + Introduction by Mariano Joaquin Lorente + + 7. A SHROPSHIRE LAD _A. E. Housman_ + + Preface by William Stanley Braithwaite + + 8. GITANJALI _Rabindranath Tagore_ + + Introduction by W. B. Yeats + + 9. THE BOOK OF FRANÇOIS VILLON + + Introduction by H. De Vere Stacpoole + + 10. THE HOUND OF HEAVEN _Francis Thompson_ + + Introduction by G. K. Chesterton + + 11. _Coloured Stars_ Edited by _Edward Powys Mathers_ + + 12. RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM _Edward Fitzgerald_ + + With Decorations by Elihu Vedder + + OTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION + + 13. THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST _Oscar Wilde_ + + 14. FIVE MODERN PLAYS _O'Neill, Schnitzler, Dunsany, + Maeterlinck, Richard Hughes_ + + 15. THREE IRISH PLAYS J_. M. Synge, Douglas Hyde,_ + and _W. B. Yeats_ + + Introduction by Harrison Hale Schaff + + 16. THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD _Henry Drummond_ + + Introduction by Elizabeth Towne + + 17. THE SYMPOSIUM OF PLATO + + Introduction by _B. Jowett, M.A._ + + 18. THE WISDOM OF CONFUCIUS + + Edited by _Miles M. Dawson_ + + 19. ALICE IN WONDERLAND _Lewis Carroll_ + + Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel + + 20. THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS _Lewis Carroll_ + + Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel + + OTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION + + * * * * * + +The following typographical errors were corrected by the etext +transcriber: + +There is a curious contradition=>There is a curious contradiction + +Segrada threw his cards=>Sagreda threw his cards + +His eyes, opened extraordinarly=>His eyes, opened extraordinarily + +flocked to _Caldera's_ cavin=>flocked to _Caldera's_ cabin + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Lion and Other Tales, by +Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 39062-8.txt or 39062-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/0/6/39062/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +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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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/license + + +Title: The Last Lion and Other Tales + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + +Commentator: Mariano Joaquin Lorente + +Release Date: March 5, 2012 [EBook #39062] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="357" height="550" alt="image of the book's cover" title="image of the book's cover" /></a> +</p> + +<p class="c">INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY<br /> +E<small>DITED BY</small> E<small>DMUND</small> R. B<small>ROWN</small></p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/title-page.png"> +<img src="images/title-page_sml.png" width="360" height="550" alt="Title page: +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES; +BY VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ; +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY; +Mariano Joaquin Lorente; +BOSTON; +INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY" title="Title page: +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES; +BY VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ; +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY; +Mariano Joaquin Lorente; +BOSTON; +INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY" /></a> +</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="c"><i>Copyright, 1919, by</i><br /> +JOHN W. LUCE & COMPANY</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="c">Reprinted by arrangement with John W.<br /> +Luce & Company. All Rights Reserved.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="c">First printing, 2,000 copies<br /> +Second printing, 5,000 copies<br /> +Third printing, 10,000 copies</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="c"><small>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC., +CLINTON, MASS.</small><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a></p> + +<h1>THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES</h1> + +<p><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a></p> + +<p><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="VICENTE_BLASCO_IBANEZ" id="VICENTE_BLASCO_IBANEZ"></a>VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ</h2> + +<p class="nind">D<small>ON</small> Vicente Blasco Ibáñez was born on the 29th of January, 1867, in the +city of Valencia, that same picturesque sunshiny Valencia which was +captured from the Moors by the formidable Cid a little over eight +centuries ago. But Blasco Ibáñez is a <i>valenciano</i> only by birth, for +his family came from the old kingdom of Aragon.</p> + +<p>The Aragonese are a sturdy, hardworking, adventurous people, somewhat +stubborn, suicidally valorous, passionately independent, fanatically +religious, fond of music and of the honest pleasures of life. Their +adventurous spirit led them in ages gone by as far as Asia Minor, where, +with the Catalonians, they gave a good account of themselves. They +fought against the Moors as doughtily as did the Castilians, and when +their kingdom was united to that of Castile, under Isabella and +Ferdinand, Granada was conquered and Mahomedan domination in Spain +ceased for ever. The great Napoleon had no fiercer antagonists than the +Aragonese, and when, after two sieges, his troops took Saragossa, they +found in it nothing but corpses and ashes. The Aragonese were so jealous +of their liberties that when one of their kings was being crowned, the +Chief Justice of Aragon, addressing His Majesty in the familiar form, +reminded him that they, the people, were greater than their king, +"<i>somos más que tu</i>".</p> + +<p>Of his Aragonese ancestry, we find in Blasco Ibáñez the intense love of +freedom, the adventurous spirit and the untiring energy for work.</p> + +<p>Blasco Ibáñez was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth; his earlier +years were a continual struggle<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> for existence in which he made a close +acquaintance with poverty and even hunger. He followed many trades and +occupied, after a hard hunt, minor clerical positions. Yet, he managed +to study law and at the age of eighteen he was a full fledged lawyer.</p> + +<p>His studies may have impressed him with the august majesty of the law, +but did not imbue him with any respect for the then existing government, +and he proceeded to write a sonnet which gave full vent to his contempt +for it.</p> + +<p>Considering that many sonneteers escape the gallows they so richly +deserve for their miserable productions, it was hard on Blasco Ibáñez +that he should have to go to jail for a period "not exceeding six +months," but perhaps it was just as well for him, as he no doubt has +made good use of his experience.</p> + +<p>Jails, as we all know, are not meant to correct political ideas: they +are merely punitive institutions. Blasco Ibáñez took his punishment like +the man he is, and at the first opportunity attacked the government with +renewed vigor and was banished from Spain. During his exile, Blasco +Ibáñez lived in France and visited Italy.</p> + +<p>Returning to Valencia after an amnesty, he founded a newspaper, "El +Pueblo" (The People) in 1891. From the columns of his paper, which he +still edits, he continued his fight "agin' the government," advocating a +republican form of government. He became a leader in the Republican +party and was elected Deputy to the Spanish Parliament, for the city of +Valencia, six consecutive times.</p> + +<p>Though his political career has been a most strenuous one, it by no +means exhausted his tremendous<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> energy, and he managed at the same time +to do an immense amount of literary work. As a young man, he became +secretary to Manuel Fernandez y Gonzalez, a prolific writer—he is said +to have written over three hundred novels—whose name has been almost +forgotten. Fernandez y Gonzalez was an old man when Blasco Ibáñez made +his acquaintance, and it often happened that the old man, exhausted by +age, or merely feeling heavy after a hearty meal, fell asleep while +dictating to his young secretary. Blasco Ibáñez, however, did not stop +writing; he let his own fancy do the dictating, for a change, and he +continued the novel until the old man woke up of his own accord. Then, +he read what he had written, and Fernandez y Gonzalez, who must have had +good literary taste, was generally delighted with the collaboration.</p> + +<p>It is extremely doubtful whether Fernandez y Gonzalez had any influence +on Blasco Ibáñez as a writer. He was an excellent example of an +energetic worker ... and that is all. But Blasco Ibáñez did not need any +such examples. He is, and has always been, activity personified.</p> + +<p>While Blasco Ibáñez was actively engaged in political warfare, editing +his own paper, contributing radical articles to other papers and +periodicals, issuing innumerable pamphlets, preparing speeches, and +addressing meetings, he still found time to write novels. Seventeen +novels, two books of short stories, and three of travels stand to his +name, as well as many uncollected critical and biographical essays.</p> + +<p>His first novels were written at odd moments, after he had edited "El +Pueblo" and attended to political business. In later years, he has +devoted less time to<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> politics and more to literature. Whereas his +earlier novels required little preparation, for they deal with his +native city, which he has known all his life, his later works represent +a gigantic amount of study and forethought, for Blasco Ibáñez is nothing +if not thorough. He studies his characters at first hand. When he was +preparing <i>Flor de Mayo</i>, he became one of those tobacco smugglers of +whom he speaks; he obtained his material for <i>La Horda</i> by living with +the scum of Madrid and joining some of the poachers in their excursions +to the royal preserves at El Pardo, thereby running the risk of being +shot at sight by the guards; later on, while he was planning <i>Los +Muertos Mandan</i>, he joined the fishermen on the coast of Ibiza, in the +Balearic Islands, and having been caught in a storm, nearly lost his +life; he lived a long time among bullfighters before writing <i>Sangre y +Arena</i> and became intimately acquainted with the famous "espada" Antonio +Fuentes.</p> + +<p>As if all the activities we have enumerated were not enough to keep an +ordinary Hercules busy for a life-time, Blasco Ibáñez has been +interested for many years in a publishing firm which has been the means +of introducing into Spain what is more instructive or interesting in the +literatures of other countries. Some of the publications of this +firm—Prometeo, of Valencia—bear witness to the indefatigable energy of +the man. Such are the "New Universal History," by Lavisse and Rambaud, +of which ten volumes have thus far been published; the "History of the +French Revolution," by Michelet, in three volumes; the "New Universal +Geography," by Reclus; "The Thousand Nights and One Night," all of them +translated by Blasco<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> Ibáñez. The same firm is now publishing a +monumental "History of the European War of 1914," from the pen of Blasco +Ibáñez. Six ponderous tomes of this work have already been published.</p> + +<p>Blasco Ibáñez has travelled extensively. He has visited most of Europe, +the Near East, and Argentina. In the latter country, he has acquired +some land and has founded a colony.</p> + +<p>There is a curious contradiction between Blasco Ibáñez' personal +appearance and his life's activities. In his younger days, when he was +more of a man of action than to-day, he wore a curly beard and a +mustache that grew untouched by scissors. They gave him an artistic +appearance and harmonized well with the rest of his features. In those +days he was a decidedly handsome man. To-day, when he is more of an +artist, perhaps, than a man of action, the beard has disappeared and the +mustache is close-cropped. The hairy camouflage, sacrificed—as we +suspect—to the goddess of Anglo-Saxon fashion, concealed a determined +chin and two deep lines, running from the base of the nose to the +corners of his mouth, that give him an energetic air. His forehead is +now larger than ever, for he is getting somewhat bald; his eyes are +piercing, with moderate eyebrows and slightly puffed lower eyelids, and +they have lost that touch of dreaminess they had in their younger days; +his nose is large and shapely modelled, his face broad and fleshy, his +ears round and big. Altogether, his head—supported by a short bullish +neck—is that of a deep thinker, a sharp observer, and active energetic +man, and withal a <i>bon vivant</i>. In other words, a true Aragonese.</p> + +<p><i>Ecce homo!</i></p> + +<p class="r">M<small>ARIANO</small> J<small>OAQUIN</small> L<small>ORENTE</small></p> + +<p><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a></p> + +<p><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>Page</small></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LAST_LION">T<small>HE</small> L<small>AST</small> L<small>ION</small></a> </td><td align="right"><a href="#page_015">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_TOAD">T<small>HE</small> T<small>OAD</small></a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_026">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#COMPASSION">C<small>OMPASSION</small></a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_036">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_WINDFALL">T<small>HE</small> W<small>INDFALL</small></a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_046">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#LUXURY">L<small>UXURY</small></a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_056">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#RABIES">R<small>ABIES</small></a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_061">61</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a></p> + +<p><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_LAST_LION" id="THE_LAST_LION"></a>THE LAST LION</h2> + +<p class="nind">S<small>CARCELY</small> had the meeting of the honorable guild of <i>blanquers</i> come to +order within its chapel near the towers of Serranos, when Señor Vicente +asked for the floor. He was the oldest tanner in Valencia. Many masters +recalled their apprentice days and declared that he was the same now as +then, with his white, brush-like mustache, his face that looked like a +sun of wrinkles, his aggressive eyes and cadaverous thinness, as if all +the sap of his life had been consumed in the daily motions of his feet +and hands about the vats of the tannery.</p> + +<p>He was the only representative of the guild's glories, the sole survivor +of those <i>blanquers</i> who were an honor to Valencian history. The +grandchildren of his former companions had become corrupted with the +march of time; they were proprietors of large establishments, with +thousands of workmen, but they would be lost if they ever had to tan a +skin with their soft, business-man's hands. Only he could call himself a +<i>blanquer</i> of the old school, working every day in his little hut near +the guild house; master and toiler at the same time, with no other +assistants than his sons and grandchildren; his workshop was of the old +kind, amid sweet domestic surroundings, with neither threats of strikes +nor quarrels over the day's pay.<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a></p> + +<p>The centuries had raised the level of the street, converting Señor +Vicente's shop into a gloomy cave. The door through which his ancestors +had entered had grown smaller and smaller from the bottom until it had +become little more than a window. Five stairs connected the street with +the damp floor of the tannery, and above, near a pointed arch, a relic +of medieval Valencia, floated like banners the skins that had been hung +up to dry, wafting about the unbearable odor of the leather. The old man +by no means envied the <i>moderns</i>, in their luxuriously appointed +business offices. Surely they blushed with shame on passing through his +lane and seeing him, at breakfast hour, taking the sun,—his sleeves and +trousers rolled up, showing his thin arms and legs, stained red,—with +the pride of a robust old age that permitted him to battle daily with +the hides.</p> + +<p>Valencia was preparing to celebrate the centenary of one of its famous +saints, and the guild of <i>blanquers</i>, like the other historic guilds, +wished to make its contribution to the festivities. Señor Vicente, with +the prestige of his years, imposed his will upon all the masters. The +<i>blanquers</i> should remain what they were. All the glories of the past, +long sequestrated in the chapel, must figure in the procession. And it +was high time they were displayed in public! His gaze, wandering about +the chapel, seemed to caress the guild's relics; the sixteenth century +drums, as large as jars, that preserved within their drumheads the +hoarse cries of revolutionary Germania; the great lantern of carved +wood, torn from the prow of a galley; the red silk banner of the guild, +edged with gold that had become greenish through the ages.<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a></p> + +<p>All this must be displayed during the celebration, shaking off the dust +of oblivion; even the famous lion of the <i>blanquers</i>!</p> + +<p>The <i>moderns</i> burst into impious laughter. The lion, too?... Yes, the +lion, too. To Señor Vicente it seemed a dishonor on the part of the +guild to forget that glorious beast. The ancient ballads, the accounts +of celebrations that might be read in the city archives, the old folks +who had lived in the splendid epoch of the guilds with their fraternal +camaraderie,—all spoke of the <i>blanquers'</i> lion; but now nobody knew +the animal, and this was a shame for the trade, a loss to the city.</p> + +<p>Their lion was as great a glory as the silk mart or the well of San +Vicente. He knew very well the reason for this opposition on the part of +the <i>moderns</i>. They feared to assume the rôle of the lion. Never fear, +my young fellows! He, with his burden of years, numbered more than +seventy, would claim his honor. It belonged to him in all justice; his +father, his grandfather, his countless ancestors, had all been lions, +and he felt equal to coming to blows with anybody who would dare dispute +his right to the rôle of the lion, traditional in his family.</p> + +<p>With what enthusiasm Señor Vicente related the history of the lion and +the heroic <i>blanquers</i>. One day the Barbary pirates from Bujia had +landed at Torreblanca, just beyond Castellón, and sacked the church, +carrying off the Shrine. This happened a little before the time of Saint +Vicente Ferrer, for the old tanner had no other way of explaining +history than by dividing it into two periods; before and after the +Saint.... The population, which was scarcely<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> moved by the raids of the +pirates, hearing of the abduction of pale maidens with large black eyes +and plump figures, destined for the harem, as if this were an inevitable +misfortune, broke into cries of grief upon learning of the sacrilege at +Torreblanca.</p> + +<p>The churches of the town were draped in black; people went through the +streets wailing loudly, striking themselves as a punishment. What could +those dogs do with the blessed Host? What would become of the poor, +defenseless Shrine?... Then it was that the valiant <i>blanquers</i> came +upon the scene. Was not the Shrine at Bujia? Then on to Bujia in quest +of it! They reasoned like heroes accustomed to beating hides all day +long, and they saw nothing formidable about beating the enemies of God. +At their own expense they fitted out a galley and the whole guild went +aboard, carrying along their beautiful banner; the other guilds, and +indeed the entire town, followed this example and chartered other +vessels.</p> + +<p>The Justice himself cast aside his scarlet gown and covered himself with +mail from head to foot; the worthy councilmen abandoned the benches of +the Golden Chamber, shielding their paunches with scales that shone like +those of the fishes in the gulf; the hundred archers of la Pluma, who +guarded <i>la Señera</i>, filled their quivers with arrows, and the Jews from +the quarter of la Xedrea did a rushing business, selling all their old +iron, including lances, notched swords and rusty corselets, in exchange +for good, ringing pieces of silver.</p> + +<p>And off sped the Valencian galleys, with their jib-sails spread to the +wind, convoyed by a shoal of dolphins, which sported about in the foam +of their<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> prows!... When the Moors beheld them approaching, the infidels +began to tremble, repenting of their irreverence toward the Shrine. And +this, despite the fact that they were a set of hardened old dogs. +Valencians, headed by the valiant <i>blanquers</i>! Who, indeed, would dare +face them!</p> + +<p>The battle raged for several days and nights, according to the tale of +Señor Vicente. Reinforcements of Moors arrived, but the Valencians, +loyal and fierce, fought to the death. And they were already beginning +to feel exhausted from the labor of disembowelling so many infidels, +when behold, from a neighboring mountain a lion comes walking down on +his hind paws, for all the world like a regular person, carrying in his +forepaws, most reverently, the Shrine,—the Shrine that had been stolen +from Torreblanca! The beast delivered it ceremoniously into the hands of +one of the guild, undoubtedly an ancestor of Señor Vicente, and hence +for centuries his family had possessed the privilege of representing +that amiable animal in the Valencian processions.</p> + +<p>Then he shook his mane, emitted a roar, and with blows and bites in +every direction cleared the field instantly of Moors.</p> + +<p>The Valencians sailed for home, carrying the Shrine back like a trophy. +The chief of the <i>blanquers</i> saluted the lion, courteously offering him +the guild house, near the towers of Serranos, which he could consider as +his own. Many thanks; the beast was accustomed to the sun of Africa and +feared a change of climate.</p> + +<p>But the trade was not ungrateful, and to perpetuate the happy +recollection of the shaggy-maned friend whom they possessed on the other +shore of the sea,<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> every time the guild banner floated in the Valencian +celebrations, there marched behind it an ancestor of Señor Vicente, to +the sound of drums, and he was covered with hide, with a mask that was +the living image of the worthy lion, bearing in his hands a Shrine of +wood, so small and poor that it caused one to doubt the genuine value of +Torreblanca's own Shrine.</p> + +<p>Perverse and irreverent persons even dared to affirm, to the great +indignation of Señor Vicente, that the whole story was a lie. Sheer +envy! Ill will of the other trades, which couldn't point to such a +glorious history! There was the guild chapel as proof, and in it the +lantern from the prow of the vessel, which the conscienceless wretches +declared dated from many centuries after the supposed battle; and there +were the guild drums, and the glorious banner; and the moth-eaten hide +of the lion, in which all his predecessors had encased themselves, lay +now forgotten behind the altar, covered with cobwebs and dust, but it +was none the less as authentic and worthy of reverence as the stones of +el Miguelete.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p class="c"><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> A belfry in Valencia.</p></div> + +<p>And above all there was his faith, ardent and incontrovertible, capable +of receiving as an affront to the family the slightest irreverence +toward the African lion, the illustrious friend of the guild.</p> + +<p>The procession took place on an afternoon in June. The sons, the +daughters-in-law, and the grandsons of Señor Vicente helped him to get +into the costume of the lion, perspiring most uncomfortably at the mere +touch of that red-stained wool. "Father, you're going to +roast."—"Grandpa, you'll melt inside of this costume."<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a></p> + +<p>The old man, however, deaf to the warnings of the family, shook his +moth-eaten mane with pride, thinking of his ancestors; then he tried on +the terrifying mask, a cardboard arrangement that imitated, with a faint +resemblance, the countenance of the wild beast.</p> + +<p>What a triumphant afternoon! The streets crowded with spectators; the +balconies decorated with bunting, and upon them rows of variegated +bonnets shading fair faces from the sun; the ground covered with myrtle, +forming a green, odorous carpet whose perfume seemed to expand the +lungs.</p> + +<p>The procession was headed by the standard-bearers, with beards of hemp, +crowns, and striped dalmatics, holding aloft the Valencian banners +adorned with enormous bats and large L's beside the coat of arms; then, +to the sound of the flageolet, the retinue of wild Indians, shepherds +from Bethlehem, Catalans and Majorcans; following these passed the +dwarfs with their monstrously huge heads, clicking the castanets to the +rhythm of a Moorish march; behind these came the giants of the Corpus +and at the end, the banners of the guilds; an endless row of red +standards, faded with the years, and so tall that their tops reached +higher than the first stories of the buildings.</p> + +<p>Plom! Rotoplom! rolled the drums of the <i>blanquers</i>,—instruments of +barbarous sonority, so large that their weight forced the drummers to +bow their necks. Plom! Rotoplom! they resounded, hoarse and menacing, +with savage solemnity, as if they were still marking the tread of the +revolutionary guild regiments, sallying forth to the encounter with the +emperor's young leader,—that Don Juan of Aragon, duke of Segorbe, who +served Victor Hugo as the<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> model for his romantic personage <i>Hernani</i>! +Plom! Rotoplom! The people ran for good places and jostled one another +to obtain a better view of the guild members, bursting into laughter and +shouts. What was that? A monkey?... A wild man?... Ah! The faith of the +past was truly laughable.</p> + +<p>The young members of the trade, their shirts open at the neck and their +sleeves rolled up, took turns at carrying the heavy banner, performing +feats of jugglery, balancing it on the palms of their hands or upon +their teeth, to the rhythm of the drums.</p> + +<p>The wealthy masters had the honor of holding the cords of the banner, +and behind them marched the lion, the glorious lion of the guild, who +was now no longer known. Nor did the lion march in careless fashion; he +was dignified, as the old traditions bade him be, and as Señor Vicente +had seen his father march, and as the latter had seen his grandfather; +he kept time with the drums, bowing at every step, to right and to left, +moving the Shrine fan-wise, like a polite and well-bred beast who knows +the respect due to the public.</p> + +<p>The farmers who had come to the celebration opened their eyes in +amazement; the mothers pointed him out with their fingers so that the +children might see him; but the youngsters, frowning, tightened their +grasp upon their mothers' necks, hiding their faces to shed tears of +terror.</p> + +<p>When the banner halted, the glorious lion had to defend himself with his +hind paws against the disrespectful swarm of gamins that surrounded him, +trying to tear some locks out of his moth-eaten mane. At other times the +beast looked up at the balconies to<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> salute the pretty girls with the +Shrine; they laughed at the grotesque figure. And Señor Vicente did +wisely; however much of a lion one may be, one must be gallant toward +the fair sex.</p> + +<p>The spectators fanned themselves, trying to find a momentary coolness in +the burning atmosphere; the <i>horchateros</i><a name="FNanchor_A_2" id="FNanchor_A_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> bustled among the crowds +shouting their wares, called from all directions at once and not knowing +whither to go first; the standard-bearers and the drummers wiped the +sweat off their faces at every restaurant door, and at last went inside +to seek refreshment.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p class="c"><a name="Footnote_A_2" id="Footnote_A_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Vendors of "horchata," iced orgeat.</p></div> + +<p>But the lion stuck to his post. His mask became soft; he walked with a +certain weariness, letting the Shrine rest upon his stomach, having by +this time lost all desire to bow to the public.</p> + +<p>Fellow tanners approached him with jesting questions.</p> + +<p>"How are things going, <i>so Visent</i>?"</p> + +<p>And <i>so Visent</i> roared indignantly from the interior of his cardboard +disguise. How should things go? Very well. He was able to keep it up, +without failing in his part, even if the parade continued for three +days. As for getting tired, leave that to the young folks. And drawing +himself proudly erect, he resumed his bows, marking time with his +swaying Shrine of wood.</p> + +<p>The procession lasted three hours. When the guild banner returned to the +Cathedral night was beginning to fall.</p> + +<p>Plom! Retoplom! The glorious banner of the <i>blanquers</i> returned to its +guild house behind the drums. The myrtle on the streets had disappeared +beneath the feet of the paraders. Now the ground was covered<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> with drops +of wax, rose leaves and strips of tinsel. The liturgic perfume of +incense floated through the air. Plom! Retoplom! The drums were tired; +the strapping youths who had carried the standards were now panting, +having lost all desire to perform balancing tricks; the rich masters +clutched the cords of the banner tightly as if the latter were towing +them along, and they complained of their new shoes and their bunions; +but the lion, the weary lion (ah, swaggering beast!) who at times seemed +on the point of falling to the ground, still had strength left to rise +on his hind paws and frighten the suburban couples, who pulled at a +string of children that had been dazzled by the sights.</p> + +<p>A lie! Pure conceit! Señor Vicente knew what it felt like to be inside +of the lion's hide. But nobody is obliged to take the part of the lion, +and he who assumes it must stick it out to the bitter end.</p> + +<p>Once home, he sank upon the sofa like a bundle of wool; his sons, +daughters-in-law and grandchildren hastened to remove the mask from his +face. They could scarcely recognize him, so congested and scarlet were +his features, which seemed to spurt water from every line of his +wrinkles.</p> + +<p>They tried to remove his skins; but the beast was oppressed by a +different desire, begging in a suffocated voice. He wished a drink; he +was choking with the heat. The family, warning against illness, +protested in vain. The deuce! He desired a drink right away. And who +would dare resist an infuriated lion?...</p> + +<p>From the nearest café they brought him some ice-cream in a blue cup; a +Valencian ice-cream, honey-sweet and grateful to the nostrils, +glistening with drops of white juice at the conical top.<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a></p> + +<p>But what are ice creams to a lion! <i>Haaam</i>! He swallowed it at a single +gulp, as if it were a mere trifle! His thirst and the heat assailed him +anew, and he roared for other refreshment.</p> + +<p>The family, for reasons of economy, thought of the <i>horchata</i> from a +near-by restaurant. They would see; let a full jar of it be brought. And +Señor Vicente drank and drank until it was unnecessary to remove the +skins from him. Why? Because an attack of double pneumonia finished him +inside of a few hours. The glorious, shaggy-haired <i>uniform</i> of the +family served him as a shroud.</p> + +<p>Thus died the lion of the <i>blanquers</i>,—the last lion of Valencia.</p> + +<p>And the fact is that <i>horchata</i> is fatal for beasts.... Pure poison!<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_TOAD" id="THE_TOAD"></a>THE TOAD</h2> + +<p class="nind">"I <small>WAS</small> spending the summer at Nazaret," said my friend Orduna, "a little +fishermen's town near Valencia. The women went to the city to sell the +fish, the men sailed about in their boats with triangular sails, or +tugged at their nets on the beach; we summer vacationists spent the day +sleeping and the night at the doors of our houses, contemplating the +phosphorescence of the waves or slapping ourselves here and there +whenever we heard the buzz of a mosquito,—that scourge of our resting +hours.</p> + +<p>"The doctor, a hardy and genial old fellow, would come and sit down +under the bower before my door, and we'd spend the night together, with +a jar or a watermelon at our side, speaking of his patients, folks of +land or sea, credulous, rough and insolent in their manners, given over +to fishing or to the cultivation of their fields. At times we laughed as +he recalled the illness of Visanteta, the daughter of <i>la Soberana</i>, an +old fishmonger who justified her nickname of <i>the Queen</i> by her bulk and +her stature, as well as by the arrogance with which she treated her +market companions, imposing her will upon them by right of might.... The +belle of the place was this Visanteta: tiny, malicious, with a clever +tongue, and no other good looks than that<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> of youthful health; but she +had a pair of penetrating eyes and a trick of pretending timidity, +weakness, and interest, which simply turned the heads of the village +youths. Her sweetheart was <i>Carafosca</i>, a brave fisherman who was +capable of sailing on a stick of wood. On the sea he was admired by all +for his audacity; on land he filled everybody with fear by his provoking +silence and the facility with which he whipped out his aggressive +sailor's knife. Ugly, burly, and always ready for a fight, like the huge +creatures that from time to time showed up in the waters of Nazaret +devouring all the fish, he would walk to church on Sunday afternoons at +his sweetheart's side, and every time the maiden raised her head to +speak to him, amidst the simple talk and lisping of a delicate, pampered +child, <i>Carafosca</i> would cast a challenging look about him with his +squinting eyes, as if defying all the folk of the fields, the beach, and +the sea to take his Visanteta away from him.</p> + +<p>"One day the most astounding news was bruited about Nazaret. The +daughter of la <i>Soberana</i> had an animal inside of her. Her abdomen was +swelling; the slow deformation revealed itself through her under-skirts +and her dress; her face lost color, and the fact that she had swooned +several times, vomiting painfully, upset the entire cabin and caused her +mother to burst into desperate lamentations and to run in terror for +help. Many of her neighbors smiled when they heard of this illness. Let +them tell it to <i>Carafosca</i>!... But the incredulous ones ceased their +malicious talk and their suspicions when they saw how sad and desperate +<i>Carafosca</i> became at his sweetheart's illness, praying for her recovery +with all the fervor of a simple soul, even going so far as to enter the +little village<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> church,—he, who had always been a pagan, a blasphemer +of God and the saints.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was a strange and horrible sickness. The people, in their +predisposition to believe in all sorts of extraordinary and rare +afflictions, were certain that they knew what this was. Visanteta had a +toad in her stomach. She had drunk from a certain spot of the near-by +river, and the wicked animal, small and almost unnoticeable, had gone +down into her stomach, growing fast. The good neighbors, trembling with +stupefaction, flocked to <i>la Soberana's</i> cabin to examine the girl. All, +with a certain solemnity, felt the swelling abdomen, seeking in its +tightened surface the outlines of the hidden creature. Some of them, +older and more experienced than the rest, laughed with a triumphant +expression. There it was, right under their hand. They could feel it +stirring, moving about.... Yes, it was moving! And after grave +deliberation, they agreed upon remedies to expel the unwelcome guest. +They gave the girl spoonfuls of rosemary honey, so that the wicked +creature inside should start to eat it gluttonously, and when he was +most preoccupied in his joyous meal, whiz!—an inundation of onion juice +and vinegar that would bring him out at full gallop. At the same time +they applied to her stomach miraculous plasters, so that the toad, left +without a moment's rest, should escape in terror; there were rags soaked +in brandy and saturated with incense; tangles of hemp dipped in the +calking of the ships; mountain herbs; simple bits of paper with numbers, +crosses and Solomon's seal upon them, sold by the miracle-worker of the +city. Visanteta thought that all these remedies that were being thrust +down her throat would be the<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> death of her. She shuddered with the +chills of nausea, she writhed in horrible contortions as if she were +about to expel her very entrails, but the odious toad did not deign to +show even one of his legs, and <i>la Soberana</i> cried to heaven. Ah, her +daughter!... Those remedies would never succeed in casting out the +wretched animal: it was better to let it alone, and not torture the poor +girl; rather give it a great deal to eat, so that it wouldn't feed upon +the strength of Visanteta who was growing paler and weaker every day.</p> + +<p>"And as <i>la Soberana</i> was poor, all her friends, moved by the +compassionate solidarity of the common people, devoted themselves to the +feeding of Visanteta so that the toad should do her no harm. The +fisherwomen, upon returning from the square brought her cakes that were +purchased in city establishments, that only the upper class patronized; +on the beach, when the catch was sorted, they laid aside for her a +dainty morsel that would serve for a succulent soup; the neighbors, who +happened to be cooking in their pots over the fire would take out a +cupful of the best of the broth, carrying it slowly so that it shouldn't +spill, and bring it to <i>la Soberana's</i> cabin; cups of chocolate arrived +one after the other every afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Visanteta rebelled against this excessive kindness. She couldn't +swallow another drop! She was full! But her mother stuck out her hairy +nose with an imperious expression. I tell you to eat! She must remember +what she had inside of her.... And she began to feel a faint, +indefinable affection for that mysterious creature, lodged in the +entrails of her daughter. She pictured it to herself; she could see it; +it was her pride. Thanks to it, the whole town had<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> its eyes upon the +cabin and the trail of visitors was unending, and <i>la Soberana</i> never +passed a woman on her way without being stopped and asked for news.</p> + +<p>"Only once had they summoned the doctor, seeing him pass by the door; +but not that they really wished him, or had any faith in him. What could +that helpless man do against such a tenacious animal!... And upon +hearing that, not content with the explanations of the mother and the +daughter and his own audacious tapping around her clothes, he +recommended an internal examination, the proud mother almost showed him +the door. The impudent wretch! Not in a hurry was he going to have the +pleasure of seeing her daughter so intimately! The poor thing, so good +and so modest, who blushed merely at the thought of such proposals!...</p> + +<p>"On Sunday afternoons Visanteta went to church, figuring at the head of +the daughters of Mary. Her voluminous abdomen was eyed with admiration +by the girls. They all asked breathlessly after the toad, and Visanteta +replied wearily. It didn't bother her so much now. It had grown very +much because she ate so well; sometimes it moved about, but it didn't +hurt as it used to. One after the other the maidens would place their +hands upon the afflicted one and feel the movements of the invisible +creature, admiring as they did so the superiority of their friend. The +curate, a blessed chap of pious simplicity, pretended not to notice the +feminine curiosity, and thought with awe of the things done by God to +put His creatures to the test. Afterwards, when the afternoon drew to a +close, and the choir sang in gentle voice the praises of Our Lady of the +Sea, each of the virgins would fall to thinking of<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> that mysterious +beast, praying fervently that poor Visanteta be delivered of it as soon +as possible.</p> + +<p>"<i>Carafosca</i>, too, enjoyed a certain notoriety because of his +sweetheart's affliction. The women accosted him, the old fishermen +stopped him to inquire about the animal that was torturing the girl. +'The poor thing! The poor thing!' he would groan, in accents of amorous +commiseration. He said no more; but his eyes revealed a vehement desire +to take over as soon as possible Visanteta and her toad, since the +latter inspired a certain affection in him because of its connection +with her.</p> + +<p>"One night, when the doctor was at my door, a woman came in search of +him, panting with dramatic horror. <i>La Soberana's</i> daughter was very +sick; he must run to her rescue. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, +yes! The toad!' And he didn't seem at all anxious to stir. Then came +another woman, more agitated than the first. Poor Visanteta! She was +dying! Her shrieks could be heard all over the street. The wicked beast +was devouring her entrails....</p> + +<p>"I followed the doctor, attracted by the curiosity that had the whole +town in a commotion. When we came to <i>la Soberana's</i> cabin we had to +force our way through a compact group of women who obstructed the +doorway, crowding into the house. A rending shriek, a rasping wail came +from the innermost part of the dwelling, rising above the heads of the +curious or terrified women. The hoarse voice of <i>la Soberana</i> answered +with entreating accents. Her daughter! Ah, Lord, her poor daughter....</p> + +<p>"The arrival of the physician was received by a chorus of demands on the +part of the old women. Poor<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> Visanteta was writhing furiously, unable to +bear such pain; her eyes bulged from their sockets and her features were +distorted. She must be operated upon; her entrails must be opened and +the green, slippery demon that was eating her alive must be expelled.</p> + +<p>"The doctor proceeded upon his task, without paying any attention to the +advice showered upon him, and before I could reach his side his voice +resounded through the sudden silence, with ill-humored brusqueness:</p> + +<p>"'But good Lord, the only trouble with this girl is that she's going to +...!'</p> + +<p>"Before he could finish, all could guess from the harshness of his voice +what he was about to say. The group of women yielded before <i>la +Soberana's</i> thrusts even as the waves of the sea under the belly of a +whale. She stuck out her big hands and her threatening nails, mumbling +insults and looking at the doctor with murder in her eyes. Bandit! +Drunkard! Out of her house!... It was the people's fault, for supporting +such an infidel. She'd eat him up! Let them make way for her!... And she +struggled violently with her friends, fighting to free herself and +scratch out the doctor's eyes. To her vindictive cries were joined the +weak bleating of Visanteta, protesting with the breath that was left her +between her groans of pain. It was a lie! Let that wicked man be gone! +What a nasty mouth he had! It was all a lie!...</p> + +<p>"But the doctor went hither and thither, asking for water, for bandages, +snappy and imperious in his commands, paying no attention whatsoever to +the threats of the mother or the cries of the daughter, which were +becoming louder and more heart-rending than ever.<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> Suddenly she roared +as if she were being slaughtered, and there was a bustle of curiosity +around the physician, whom I couldn't see. 'It's a lie! A lie! +Evil-tongued wretch! Slanderer!'... But the protestations of Visanteta +were no longer unaccompanied. To her voice of an innocent victim begging +justice from heaven was added the cry of a pair of lungs that were +breathing the air for the first time.</p> + +<p>"And now the friends of <i>la Soberana</i> had to restrain her from falling +upon her daughter. She would kill her! The bitch! Whose child was +that?... And terrified by the threats of her mother, the sick woman, who +was still sobbing 'It's a lie! A lie!' at last spoke. It was a young +fellow of the <i>huerta</i> whom she had never seen again ... an indiscretion +committed one evening.... She no longer remembered. No, she could not +remember!... And she insisted upon this forgetfulness as if it were an +incontrovertible excuse.</p> + +<p>"The people now saw through it all. The women were impatient to spread +the news. As we left, <i>la Soberana</i>, humiliated and in tears, tried to +kneel before the doctor and kiss his hand. 'Ay, Don Antoni!... Don +Antoni!' She asked pardon for her insults; she despaired when she +thought of the village comments. What they would have to suffer now!... +On the following day the youths that sang as they arranged their nets +would invent new verses. The song of the toad! Her life would become +impossible!... But even more than this, the thought of <i>Carafosca</i> +terrified her. She knew very well what sort of brute that was. He would +kill poor Visanteta the first time she appeared on the street; and she +herself would meet the same fate for being her mother and not having +guarded her well.<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> 'Ay, Don Antoni!' She begged him, upon her knees, to +see <i>Carafosca</i>. He, who was so good and who knew so much, could +convince the fellow with his reasoning, and make him swear that he would +not do the women any harm,—that he would forget them.</p> + +<p>"The doctor received these entreaties with the same indifference as he +had received the threats, and he answered sharply. He would see about +it; it was a delicate affair. But once in the street, he shrugged his +shoulders with resignation. 'Let's go and see that animal.'</p> + +<p>"We pulled him out of the tavern and the three of us began to walk along +the beach through the darkness. The fisherman seemed to be awed at +finding himself between two persons of such importance. Don Antonio +spoke to him of the indisputable superiority of men ever since the +earliest days of creation; of the scorn with which women should be +regarded because of their lack of seriousness; of their immense number +and the ease with which we could pick another if the one we had happened +to displease us ... and at last, with brutal directness, told what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"<i>Carafosca</i> hesitated, as if he had not understood the doctor's words +very well. Little by little the certainty dawned upon his dense +comprehension. 'By God! By God!' And he scratched himself fearfully +under his cap, and brought his hands to his sash as if he were seeking +his redoubtable knife.</p> + +<p>"The physician tried to console him. He must forget Visanteta; there +would be no sense or advantage in killing her. It wasn't worth while for +a splendid chap like him to go to prison for slaying a worthless +<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>creature like her. The real culprit was that unknown laborer; but ... +and she! And how easily she ... committed the indiscretion, not being +able to recall anything afterwards!...</p> + +<p>"For a long time we walked along in painful silence, with no other +novelty than <i>Carafosca's</i> scratching of his head and his sash. Suddenly +he surprised us with the roar of his voice, speaking to us in Castilian, +thus adding solemnity to what he said:</p> + +<p>"'Do you want me to tell you something?... Do you want me to tell you +something?'</p> + +<p>"He looked at us with hostile eyes, as if he saw before him the unknown +culprit of the <i>huerta</i>, ready to pounce upon him. It could be seen that +his sluggish brain had just adopted a very firm resolution.... What was +it? Let him speak.</p> + +<p>"'Well, then,' he articulated slowly, as if we were enemies whom he +desired to confound, 'I tell you ... that now I love the girl more than +ever.'</p> + +<p>"In our stupefaction, at a loss for reply, we shook hands with him."<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="COMPASSION" id="COMPASSION"></a>COMPASSION</h2> + +<p class="nind">A<small>T TEN</small> o'clock in the evening Count de Sagreda walked into his club on +the Boulevard des Capucins. There was a bustle among the servants to +relieve him of his cane, his highly polished hat and his costly fur +coat, which, as it left his shoulders revealed a shirt bosom of +immaculate neatness, a gardenia in his lapel, and all the attire of +black and white, dignified yet brilliant, that belongs to a gentleman +who has just dined.</p> + +<p>The story of his ruin was known by every member of the club. His +fortune, which fifteen years before had caused a certain commotion in +Paris, having been ostentatiously cast to the four winds, was exhausted. +The count was now living on the remains of his opulence, like those +shipwrecked seamen who live upon the debris of the vessel, postponing in +anguish the arrival of the last hour. The very servants who danced +attendance upon him like slaves in dress suits, knew of his misfortune +and discussed his shameful plight; but not even the slightest suggestion +of insolence disturbed the colorless glance of their eyes, petrified by +servitude. He was such a nobleman! He had scattered his money with such +majesty!... Besides, he was a genuine member of the nobility, a nobility +that dated back for centuries and whose musty odor<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> inspired a certain +ceremonious gravity in many of the citizens whose forebears had helped +bring about the Revolution. He was not one of those Polish counts who +permit themselves to be entertained by women, nor an Italian marquis who +winds up by cheating at cards, nor a Russian personage of consequence +who often draws his pay from the police; he was genuine <i>hidalgo</i>, a +grandee of Spain. Perhaps one of his ancestors figured in the <i>Cid</i>, in +<i>Ruy Blas</i> or some other of the heroic pieces in the repertory of the +Comédie Française.</p> + +<p>The count entered the salons of the club with head erect and a proud +gait, greeting his friends with a barely discernible smile, a mixture of +hauteur and light-heartedness.</p> + +<p>He was approaching his fortieth year, but he was still the <i>beau</i> +Sagreda, as he had long been nicknamed by the noctambulous women of +Maxim's and the early-rising Amazons of the Bois. A few gray hairs at +his temples and a triangle of faint wrinkles at the corner of his brows, +betrayed the effects of an existence that had been lived at too rapid a +pace, with the vital machinery running at full speed. But his eyes were +still youthful, intense and melancholy; eyes that caused him to be +called "the Moor" by his men and women friends. The Viscounte de la +Tresminière, crowned by the Academy as the author of a study on one of +his ancestors who had been a companion of Condé, and highly appreciated +by the antique dealers on the left bank of the Seine, who sold him all +the bad canvases they had in store, called him <i>Velazquez</i>, satisfied +that the swarthy, somewhat olive complexion of the count, his black, +heavy mustache and his grave eyes, gave him<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> the right to display his +thorough acquaintance with Spanish art.</p> + +<p>All the members of the club spoke of Sagreda's ruin with discreet +compassion. The poor count! Not to fall heir to some new legacy. Not to +meet some American millionairess who would be smitten with him and his +titles!... They must do something to save him.</p> + +<p>And he walked amid this mute and smiling pity without being at all aware +of it, encased in his pride, receiving as admiration that which was +really compassionate sympathy, forced to have recourse to painful +simulations in order to surround himself with as much luxury as before, +thinking that he was deceiving others and deceiving only himself.</p> + +<p>Sagreda cherished no illusions as to the future. All the relatives that +might come to his rescue with a timely legacy had done so many years +before, upon making their exit from the world's stage. None that might +recall his name was left beyond the mountains. In Spain he had only some +distant relatives, personages of the nobility united to him more by +historic bonds than by ties of blood. They addressed him familiarly, but +he could expect from them no help other than good advice and admonitions +against his wild extravagance.... It was all over. Fifteen years of +dazzling display had consumed the supply of wealth with which Sagreda +one day arrived in Paris. The granges of Andalusia, with their droves of +cattle and horses, had changed hands without ever having made the +acquaintance of this owner, devoted to luxury and always absent. After +them, the vast wheat fields of Castilla and the rice fields of Valencia, +and the villages of the northern<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a> provinces, had gone into strange +hands,—all the princely possessions of the ancient counts of Sagreda, +plus the inheritances from various pious aunts, and the considerable +legacies of other relatives who had died of old age in their ancient +country houses.</p> + +<p>Paris and the elegant summer seasons had in a few years devoured this +fortune of centuries. The recollection of a few noisy love affairs with +two actresses in vogue; the nostalgic smile of a dozen costly women of +the world; the forgotten fame of several duels; a certain prestige as a +rash, calm gambler, and a reputation as a knightly swordsman, +intransigeant in matters of honor, were all that remained to the <i>beau</i> +Sagreda after his downfall.</p> + +<p>He lived upon his past, contracting new debts with certain providers +who, recalling other financial crises, trusted to a re-establishment of +his fortune. "His fate was settled," according to the count's own words. +When he could do no more, he would resort to a final course. Kill +himself?... never. Men like him committed suicide only because of +gambling debts or debts of honor. Ancestors of his, noble and glorious, +had owed huge sums to persons who were not their equals, without for a +moment considering suicide on this account. When the creditors should +shut their doors to him, and the money-lenders should threaten him with +a public court scandal, Count de Sagreda, making a heroic effort, would +wrench himself away from the sweet Parisian life. His ancestors had been +soldiers and colonizers. He would join the foreign legion of Algeria, or +would take passage for that America which had been conquered by his +forefathers, becoming a mounted shepherd in the solitudes of Southern<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> +Chile or upon the boundless plains of Patagonia.</p> + +<p>Until the dreaded moment should arrive, this hazardous, cruel existence +that forced him to live a continuous lie, was the best period of his +career. From his last trip to Spain, made for the purpose of liquidating +certain remnants of his patrimony, he had returned with a woman, a +maiden of the provinces who had been captivated by the prestige of the +nobleman; in her affection, ardent and submissive at the same time, +there was almost as much admiration as love. A woman!... Sagreda for the +first time realized the full significance of this word, as if up to then +he had not understood it. His present companion was a woman; the +nervous, dissatisfied females who had filled his previous existence, +with their painted smiles and voluptuous artifices, belonged to another +species.</p> + +<p>And now that the real woman had arrived, his money was departing +forever!... And when misfortune appeared, love came with it!... Sagreda, +lamenting his lost fortune, struggled hard to maintain his outward +pompous show. He lived as before, in the same house, without retrenching +his budget, making his companion presents of value equal to those that +he had lavished upon his former women friends, enjoying an almost +paternal satisfaction before the childish surprise and the ingenuous +happiness of the poor girl, who was overwhelmed by the brilliant life of +Paris.</p> + +<p>Sagreda was drowning,—drowning!—but with a smile on his lips, content +with himself, with his present life, with this sweet dream, which was to +be the final one and which was lasting miraculously long. Fate, which +had maltreated him in the past few years, consuming the remainders of +his wealth at Monte Carlo, at Ostend and<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> in the notable clubs of the +Boulevard, seemed now to stretch out a helping hand, touched by his new +existence. Every night, after dining with his companion at a fashionable +restaurant, he would leave her at the theatre and go to his club, the +only place where luck awaited him. He did not plunge heavily. Simple +games of écarté with intimate friends, chums of his youth, who continued +their happy career with the aid of great fortunes, or who had settled +down after marrying wealth, retaining among their former habits the +custom of visiting the honorable circle.</p> + +<p>Scarcely did the count take his seat, with his cards in his hand, +opposite one of these friends, when Fortune seemed to hover over his +head, and his friends did not tire of playing, inviting him to a game +every night, as if they stood awaiting their turn. His winnings were +hardly enough to grow wealthy upon; some nights ten <i>louis</i>; others +twenty-five; on special occasions Sagreda would retire with as many as +forty gold coins in his pocket. But thanks to this almost daily gain he +was able to fill the gaps of his lordly existence, which threatened to +topple down upon his head, and he maintained his lady companion in +surroundings of loving comfort, at the same time recovering confidence +in his immediate future. Who could tell what was in store for him?...</p> + +<p>Noticing Viscount de la Tresminière in one of the salons he smiled at +him with an expression of friendly challenge.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to a game?"</p> + +<p>"As you wish, my dear <i>Velazquez</i>."</p> + +<p>"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me."<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a></p> + +<p>"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me."</p> + +<p>The game commenced under the soft light of the electric bulbs, amid the +soothing silence of soft carpets and thick curtains.</p> + +<p>Sagreda kept winning, as if his kind fate was pleased to extricate him +from the most difficult passes. He won without half trying. It made no +difference that he lacked trumps and that he held bad cards; those of +his rival were always worse, and the result would be miraculously in +harmony with his previous games.</p> + +<p>Already, twenty-five golden <i>louis</i> lay before him. A club companion, +who was wandering from one salon to the other with a bored expression, +stopped near the players interested in the game. At first he remained +standing near Sagreda; then he took up his position behind the viscount, +who seemed to be rendered nervous and perturbed at the fellow's +proximity.</p> + +<p>"But that's awfully silly of you!" the inquisitive newcomer soon +exclaimed. "You're not playing a good game, my dear viscount. You're +laying aside your trumps and using only your bad cards. How stupid of +you!"</p> + +<p>He could say no more. Sagreda threw his cards upon the table. He had +grown terribly white, with a greenish pallor. His eyes, opened +extraordinarily wide, stared at the viscount. Then he rose.</p> + +<p>"I understand," he said coldly. "Allow me to withdraw."</p> + +<p>Then, with a quivering hand, he thrust the heap of gold coins toward his +friend.</p> + +<p>"This belongs to you."<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a></p> + +<p>"But, my dear <i>Velasquez</i>.... Why, Sagreda!... Permit me to explain, +dear count!..."</p> + +<p>"Enough, sir. I repeat that I understand."</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed with a strange gleam, the selfsame gleam that his +friends had seen upon various occasions, when after a brief dispute or +an insulting word, he raised his glove in a gesture of challenge.</p> + +<p>But this hostile glance lasted only a moment. Then he smiled with +glacial affability.</p> + +<p>"Many thanks, Viscount. These are favors that are never forgotten.... I +repeat my gratitude."</p> + +<p>And he saluted, like a true noble, walking off proudly erect, the same +as in the most smiling days of his opulence.</p> + +<p class="ast">* * *</p> + +<p>With his fur coat open, displaying his immaculate shirt bosom, Count de +Sagreda promenades along the boulevard. The crowds are issuing from the +theatres; the women are crossing from one sidewalk to the other; +automobiles with lighted interiors roll by, affording a momentary +glimpse of plumes, jewels and white bosoms; the news-vendors shout their +wares; at the top of the buildings huge electrical advertisements blaze +forth and go out in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>The Spanish grandee, the <i>hidalgo</i>, the descendant of the noble knights +of the <i>Cid</i> and <i>Ruy Blas</i>, walks against the current, elbowing his way +through the crowd, desiring to hasten as fast as possible, without any +particular objective in view.</p> + +<p>To contract debts!... Very well. Debts do not dishonor a nobleman. But +to receive alms?...<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> seeing his friends desert him, of descending to the +lowest depths, being lost in the social substratum. But to arouse +compassion....</p> + +<p>The comedy was useless. The intimate friends who smiled at him in former +times had penetrated the secret of his poverty and had been moved by +pity to get together and take turns at giving him alms under the pretext +of gambling with him. And likewise his other friends, and even the +servants who bowed to him with their accustomed respect as he passed by, +were in the secret. And he, the poor dope, was going about with his +lordly airs, stiff and solemn in his extinct grandeur, like the corpse +of the legendary chieftain, which, after his death, was mounted on +horseback and sallied forth to win battles.</p> + +<p>Farewell, Count de Sagreda! The heir of governors and viceroys can +become a nameless soldier in a legion of desperadoes and bandits; he can +begin life anew as an adventurer in virgin lands, killing that he may +live; he can even watch with impassive countenance the wreck of his name +and his family history, before the bench of a tribunal.... But to live +upon the compassion of his friends!...</p> + +<p>Farewell forever, final illusions! The count has forgotten his +companion, who is waiting for him at a night restaurant. He does not +think of her; it is as if he never had seen her; as if she had never +existed. He thinks not at all of that which but a few hours before had +made life worth living. He walks along, alone with his disgrace, and +each step of his seems to draw from the earth a dead thing; an ancestral +influence, a racial prejudice, a family boast, dormant hauteur,<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> honor +and fierce pride, and as these awake, they oppress his breast and cloud +his thoughts.</p> + +<p>How they must have laughed at him behind his back, with condescending +pity!... Now he walks along more hurriedly than ever, as if he has at +last made up his mind just where he is going, and his emotion leads him +unconsciously to murmur with irony, as if he is speaking to somebody who +is at his heels and whom he desires to flee.</p> + +<p>"Many thanks! Many thanks!"</p> + +<p>Just before dawn two revolver shots astound the guests of a hotel in the +vicinity of the <i>Gare Saint-Lazare</i>,—one of those ambiguous +establishments that offers a safe shelter for amorous acquaintances +begun on the thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>The attendants find in one of the rooms a gentleman dressed in evening +clothes, with a hole in his head, through which escape bloody strips of +flesh. The man writhes like a worm upon the threadbare carpet.</p> + +<p>His eyes, of a dull black, still glitter with life. There is nothing +left in them of the image of his sweet companion. His last thought, +interrupted by death, is of friendship, terrible in its pity; of the +fraternal insult of a generous, light-hearted compassion.<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_WINDFALL" id="THE_WINDFALL"></a>THE WINDFALL</h2> + +<p class="nind">"I, <small>SIR</small>," said <i>Magdalena</i>, the bugler of the prison, "am no saint; I've +been jailed many times for robberies; some of them that really took +place and others that I was simply suspected of. Compared to you, who +are a gentleman, and are in prison for having written things in the +papers, I'm a mere wretch.... But take my word for it, this time I'm +here for good."</p> + +<p>And raising one hand to his breast as he straightened his head with a +certain pride, he added, "Petty thefts, that's all.... I'm not brave; I +haven't shed a drop of blood."</p> + +<p>At break of day, <i>Magdalena's</i> bugle resounded through the spacious +yard, embroidering its reveille with scales and trills. During the day, +with the martial instrument hanging from his neck, or caressing it with +a corner of his smock so as to wipe off the vapor with which the +dampness of the prison covered it, he would go through the entire +edifice,—an ancient convent in whose refectories, granaries, and +garrets there were crowded, in perspiring confusion, almost a thousand +men.</p> + +<p>He was the clock that governed the life and the activities of this mass +of male flesh perpetually seething with hatred. He made the round of the +cells to<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> announce, with sonorous blasts, the arrival of the worthy +director, or a visit from the authorities; from the progress of the sun +along the white walls of the prison-yard he could tell the approach of +the visiting hours,—the best part of the day,—and with his tongue +stuck between his lips he would await orders impatiently, ready to burst +into the joyous signal that sent the flock of prisoners scampering over +the stairways in an anxious run toward the locutories, where a wretched +crowd of women and children buzzed in conversation; his insatiable +hunger kept him pacing back and forth in the vicinity of the old +kitchen, in which the enormous stews filled the atmosphere with a +nauseating odor, and he bemoaned the indifference of the chef, who was +always late in giving the order for the mess-call.</p> + +<p>Those imprisoned for crimes of blood, heroes of the dagger who had +killed their man in a fierce brawl or in a dispute over a woman and who +formed an aristocracy that disdained the petty thieves, looked upon the +bugler as the butt for pranks with which to while away their boredom.</p> + +<p>"Blow!" would come the command from some formidable fellow, proud of his +crimes and his courage.</p> + +<p>And <i>Magdalena</i> would draw himself up with military rigidity, close his +mouth and inflate his cheeks, momentarily expecting two blows, delivered +simultaneously by both hands, to expel the air from the ruddy globe of +his face. At other times these redoubtable personages tested the +strength of their arms upon <i>Magdalena's</i> pate, which was bare with the +baldness of repugnant diseases, and they would howl with laughter at the +damage done to their fists by the protuberances of the hard skull. The +bugler lent himself to these tortures with the<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> humility of a whipped +dog, and found a certain revenge in repeating, afterwards, those words +that were a solace to him:</p> + +<p>"I'm good; I'm not a brave fellow. Petty thefts, that's all.... But as +to blood, not a single drop."</p> + +<p>Visiting time brought his wife, the notorious <i>Peluchona</i>, a valiant +creature who inspired him with great fear. She was the mistress of one +of the most dangerous bandits in the jail. Daily she brought that fellow +food, procuring these dainties at the cost of all manner of vile labors. +The bugler, upon beholding her, would leave the lucutory, fearing the +arrogance of her bandit mate, who would take advantage of the occasion +to humiliate him before his former companion. Many times a certain +feeling of curiosity and tenderness got the better of his fear, and he +would advance timidly, looking beyond the thick bars for the head of a +child that came with <i>la Peluchona</i>.</p> + +<p>"That's my son, sir," he said humbly. "My Tonico, who no longer knows me +or remembers me. They say that he doesn't resemble me at all. Perhaps +he's not mine.... You can imagine, with the life his mother has always +led, living near the garrisons, washing the soldiers' clothes!... But he +was born in my home; I held him in my arms when he was ill, and that's a +bond as close as ties of blood."</p> + +<p>Then he would resume his timid lurking about the locutory, as if +preparing one of his robberies, to see his Tonico; and when he could see +him for a moment, the sight was enough to extinguish his helpless rage +before the full basket of lunch that the evil woman brought to her +lover.</p> + +<p><i>Magdalena's</i> whole existence was summed up in<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a> two facts; he had robbed +and he had travelled much. The robberies were insignificant; clothes or +money snatched in the street, because he lacked courage for greater +deeds. His travels had been compulsory,—always on foot, over the roads +of Spain, marching in a chain gang of convicts, between the polished or +white three-cornered hats that guarded the prisoners.</p> + +<p>After having been a "pupil" among the buglers of a regiment, he had +launched upon his life of continuous imprisonment, punctuated by brief +periods of freedom, in which he lost his bearings, not knowing what to +do with himself and wishing to return as soon as possible to jail. It +was the perpetual chain, but finished link by link, as he used to say.</p> + +<p>The police never organized a round-up of dangerous persons but what +<i>Magdalena</i> was found among them,—a timorous rat whose name the papers +mentioned like that of a terrible criminal. He was always included in +the trail of vagrant suspects who, without being charged with any +specific crime, were sent from province to province by the authorities, +in the hope that they would die of hunger along the roads, and thus he +had covered the whole peninsula on foot, from Cádiz to Santander, from +Valencia to La Coruna. With what enthusiasm he recalled his travels! He +spoke of them as if they were joyous excursions, just like a wandering +charity-student of the old <i>Tuna</i> converting his tales into courses in +picturesque geography. With hungry delight he recollected the abundant +milk of Galicia, the red sausages of Extramadura, the Castilian bread, +the Basque apples, the wines and ciders of all the districts he had +traversed, with his luggage on his shoulder. Guards were changed every +day,—some<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> of them kind or indifferent, others ill-humored and cruel, +who made all the prisoners fear a couple of shots fired beyond the ruts +of the road, followed by the papers justifying the killing as having +been caused by an attempt at flight. With a certain nostalgia he evoked +the memory of mountains covered with snow or reddened and striped by the +sun; the slow procession along the white road that was lost in the +horizon, like an endless ribbon; the highlands, under the trees, in the +hot noon hours; the storms that assailed them upon the highways; +inundated ravines that forced them to camp out in the open; the arrival, +late at night, at certain town prisons, old convents or abandoned +churches, in which every man hunted up a dry corner, protected from +draughts, where he could stretch his mat; the endless journey with all +the long halts in spots where life was so monotonous that the presence +of a group of prisoners was an event; the urchins would come running up +to the bars to speak with them, while the girls, impelled by morbid +curiosity, would approach within a short distance, to hear their songs +and their obscene language.</p> + +<p>"Some mighty interesting travels, sir," continued the robber. "For those +of us who had good health and didn't drop by the roadside it was the +same as a strolling band of students. Now and then a drubbing, but who +pays any attention to such things!... They don't have these +<i>conductions</i> now; prisoners are transported by railroad, caged up in +the cars. Besides I am held for a criminal offense, and I must live +inside the walls ... jailed for good."</p> + +<p>And again he began to lament his bad luck, relating the final deed that +had landed him in jail.<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a></p> + +<p>It was a suffocating Sunday in July; an afternoon in which the streets +of Valencia seemed to be deserted, under the burning sun and a wind like +a furnace blast that came from the baked plains of the interior. +Everybody was at the bull-fight or at the sea-shore. <i>Magdalena</i> was +approached by his friend <i>Chamorra</i>, an old prison traveling companion, +who exercised a certain influence over him. That <i>Chamorra</i> was a bad +soul! A thief, but of the sort that go the limit, not recoiling before +the necessity of shedding blood and with his knife always handy beside +his skeleton-keys. It was a matter of cleaning out a certain house, upon +which this fearful fellow had set his eye. <i>Magdalena</i> modestly excused +himself. He wasn't made for such things; he couldn't go so far. As for +gliding up to a roof and pulling down the clothes that had been hung out +to dry, or snatching a woman's purse with a quick pull and making off +with it ... all right. But to break into a house, and face the mystery +of a dwelling, in which the people might be at home?...</p> + +<p>But <i>Chamorra's</i> threatening look inspired him with greater fear than +did the anticipation of such an encounter, and he finally consented. +Very well; he would go as an assistant,—to carry the spoils, but ready +to flee at the slightest alarm. And he refused to accept an old +jack-knife that his companion offered him. He was consistent.</p> + +<p>"Petty thefts aplenty; but as to blood, not a single drop."</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon they entered the narrow vestibule of a house that +had no janitor, and whose inhabitants were all away. <i>Chamorra</i> knew his +victim; a comfortably fixed artisan who must have a neat little<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> pile +saved up. He was surely at the beach with his wife or at the bull-fight. +Above, the door of the apartment yielded easily, and the two companions +began to work in the gloom of the shuttered windows.</p> + +<p><i>Chamorra</i> forced the locks of two chiffoniers and a closet. There was +silver coin, copper coin, several bank-notes rolled up at the bottom of +a fan-case, the wedding-jewelry, a clock. Not a bad haul. His anxious +looks wandered over the place, seeking to make off with everything that +could be carried. He lamented the uselessness of <i>Magdalena</i>, who, +restless with fear and with his arms hanging limp at his sides, was +pacing to and fro without knowing what to do.</p> + +<p>"Take the quilts," ordered <i>Chamorra</i>, "we're sure to get something for +the wool." And <i>Magdalena</i>, eager to finish the job as soon as possible, +penetrated into the dark alcove, gropingly passing a rope underneath the +quilts and the bed-sheets. Then, aided by his friend, he hurriedly made +a bundle of everything, casting the voluminous burden upon his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>They left without being detected, and walked off in the direction of the +outskirts of the town, toward a shanty of Arrancapinos, where <i>Chamorra</i> +had his haunt. The latter walked ahead, ready to run at the first sign +of danger; <i>Magdalena</i> followed, trotting along, almost hidden beneath +the tremendous load, fearing to feel at any moment the hand of the +police upon his neck.</p> + +<p>Upon examining the proceeds of the robbery in the remote corral, +<i>Chamorra</i> exhibited the arrogance of a lion, granting his accomplice a +few copper coins. This must be enough for the moment. He did this for +<i>Magdalena's</i> own good, as <i>Magdalena</i> was such a spendthrift. Later he +would give more.<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a></p> + +<p>Then they untied the bundle of quilts, and <i>Chamorra</i> bent over, his +hands on his hips, exploding with laughter. What a find!... What a +present!</p> + +<p><i>Magdalena</i> likewise burst into guffaws, for the first time that +afternoon. Upon the bed-clothes lay an infant, dressed only in a little +shirt, its eyes shut and its face purple from suffocation, but moving +its chest with difficulty at feeling the first caress of fresh air. +<i>Magdalena</i> recalled the vague sensation he had experienced during his +journey hither,—that of something alive moving inside the thick load on +his back. A weak, suffocated whining pursued him in his flight.... The +mother had left the little one asleep in the cool darkness of the +alcove, and they, without knowing it, had carried it off together with +the bed-clothes.</p> + +<p><i>Magdalena's</i> frightened eyes now looked questioningly at his companion. +What were they to do with the child?... But that evil soul was laughing +away like a very demon.</p> + +<p>"It's yours; I present it to you.... Eat it with potatoes."</p> + +<p>And he went off with all the spoils. <i>Magdalena</i> was left standing in +doubt, while he cradled the child in his arms. The poor little thing!... +It looked just like his own Tono, when he was ill and leaned his little +head upon his father's bosom, while the parent wept, fearing for the +child's life. The same little soft, pink feet; the same downy flesh, +with skin as soft as silk.... The infant had ceased to cry, looking with +surprised eyes at the robber, who was caressing it like a nurse.</p> + +<p><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>"Lullaby, my poor little thing! There, there, my little king ... child +Jesus! Look at me. I'm your uncle."</p> + +<p>But <i>Magdalena</i> stopped laughing, thinking of the mother, of her +desperate grief when she would return to the house. The loss of her +little fortune would be her least concern. The child! Where was she to +find her child?... He knew what mothers were like. <i>Peluchona</i> was the +worst of women, yet he had seen even her weep and moan before her little +one in danger.</p> + +<p>He gazed toward the sun, which was beginning to sink in a majestic +summer sunset. There was still time to take the infant back to the house +before its parents would return. And if he should encounter them, he +would lie, saying that he found the infant in the middle of the street; +he would extricate himself as well as he could. Forward; he had never +felt so brave.</p> + +<p>Carrying the infant in his arms he walked at ease through the very +streets over which he had lately hastened with the anxious gait of fear. +He mounted the staircase without encountering anybody. Above, the same +solitude. The door was still open, the bolt forced. Within, the +disordered rooms, the broken furniture, the drawers upon the floor, the +overturned chairs and clothes strewn about, filled him with a sensation +of terror similar to that which assails the assassin who returns to +contemplate the corpse of his victim some time after the crime.</p> + +<p>He gave a last fond kiss to the child and left it upon the bed.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my pet!"</p> + +<p>But as he approached the head of the staircase he heard footsteps, and +in the rectangle of light that<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> entered through the open door there +bulked the silhouette of a corpulent man. At the same time there rang +out the shrill shriek of a female voice, trembling with fright:</p> + +<p>"Robbers!... Help!"</p> + +<p><i>Magdalena</i> tried to escape, opening a passage for himself with his head +lowered, like a cornered rat; but he felt himself seized by a pair of +Cyclopean arms, accustomed to beating iron, and with a mighty thrust he +was sent rolling down the stairs.</p> + +<p>On his face there were still signs of the bruises he had received from +contact with the steps, and from the blows rained upon him by the +infuriated neighbors.</p> + +<p>"In sum, sir. Breaking and entering. I'll get out in heaven knows how +many years.... All for being kind-hearted. To make matters worse, they +don't even give me any consideration, looking upon me as a clever +criminal. Everybody knows that the real thief was <i>Chamorra</i> whom I +haven't seen since.... And they ridicule me for a silly fool."<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="LUXURY" id="LUXURY"></a>LUXURY</h2> + +<p class="nind">"I <small>HAD</small> her on my lap," said my friend Martinez, "and the warm weight of +her healthy body was beginning to tire me.</p> + +<p>"The scene ... same as usual in such places. Mirrors with blemished +surfaces, and names scratched across them, like spiders' webs; sofas of +discolored velvet, with springs that creaked atrociously; the bed +decorated with theatrical hangings, as clean and common as a sidewalk, +and on the walls, pictures of bull-fighters and cheap chromos of angelic +virgins smelling a rose or languorously contemplating a bold hunter.</p> + +<p>"The scenery was that of the favorite cell in the convent of vice; an +elegant room reserved for distinguished patrons; and she was a healthy, +robust creature, who seemed to bring a whiff of the pure mountain air +into the heavy atmosphere of this closed house, saturated with cheap +cologne, rice powder and the vapor from dirty wash-basins.</p> + +<p>"As she spoke to me she stroked the ribbons of her gown with childish +complacency; it was a fine piece of satin, of screaming yellow, somewhat +too tight for her body, a dress which I recalled having seen months +before on the delicate charms of another girl, who had since died, +according to reports, in the hospital.<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a></p> + +<p>"Poor girl! She had become a sight! Her coarse, abundant hair, combed in +Greek fashion, was adorned with glass beads; her cheeks, shiny from the +dew of perspiration, were covered with a thick layer of cosmetic; and as +if to reveal her origin, her arms, which were firm, swarthy and of +masculine proportions, escaped from the ample sleeves of her chorus-girl +costume.</p> + +<p>"As she saw me follow with attentive glance all the details of her +extravagant array, she thought that I was admiring her, and threw her +head back with a petulant expression.</p> + +<p>"And such a simple creature!... She hadn't yet become acquainted with +the customs of the house, and told the truth,—all the truth—to the men +who wished to know her history. They called her Flora; but her real name +was Mari-Pepa. She wasn't the orphan of a colonel or a magistrate, nor +did she concoct the complicated tales of love and adventure that her +companions did, in order to justify their presence in such a place. The +truth; always the truth; she would yet be hanged for her frankness. Her +parents were comfortably situated farmers in a little town of Aragón; +owned their fields, had two mules in the barn, bread, wine, and enough +potatoes for the year round; and at night the best fellows in the place +came one after the other to soften her heart with serenade upon +serenade, trying to carry off her dark, healthy person together with the +four orchards she had inherited from her grandfather.</p> + +<p>"'But what could you expect, my dear fellow?... I couldn't bear those +people. They were too coarse for me. I was born to be a lady. And tell +me, why can't I be? Don't I look as good as any of them?...'</p> + +<p>"And she snuggled her head against my shoulder,<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> like the docile +sweetheart she was,—a slave subjected to all sorts of caprices in +exchange for being clothed handsomely.</p> + +<p>"'Those fellows,' she continued, 'made me sick. I ran off with the +student,—understand?—the son of the town magistrate, and we wandered +about until he deserted me, and I landed here, waiting for something +better to turn up. You see, it's a short tale.... I don't complain of +anything. I'm satisfied.'</p> + +<p>"And to show how happy she was, the unhappy girl rode astride my legs, +thrust her hard fingers through my hair, rumpling it, and sang a tango +in horrible fashion, in her strong, peasant voice.</p> + +<p>"I confess that I was seized with an impulse to speak to her 'in the +name of morality,'—that hypocritical desire we all possess to propagate +virtue when we are sated and desire is dead.</p> + +<p>"She raised her eyes, astonished to see me look so solemn, preaching to +her, like a missionary glorifying chastity with a prostitute on his +knees; her gaze wandered continually from my austere countenance to the +bed close by. Her common sense was baffled before the incongruity +between such virtue and the excesses of a moment before.</p> + +<p>"Suddenly she seemed to understand, and an outburst of laughter swelled +her fleshy neck."</p> + +<p>"'The deuce!... How amusing you are! And with what a face you say all +these things! Just like the priest of my home town ...'</p> + +<p>"No, Pepa, I'm serious. I believe you're a good girl; you don't realize +what you've gone into, and I'm warning you. You've fallen very low, very +low.<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> You're at the bottom. Even within the career of vice, the majority +of women resist and deny the caresses that are required of you in this +house. There is yet time for you to save yourself. Your parents have +enough for you to live on; you didn't come here under the necessity of +poverty. Return to your home, and the past will be forgotten; you can +tell them a lie, invent some sort of tale to justify your flight, and +who knows?... One of the fellows that used to serenade you will marry +you, you'll have children and you'll be a respectable woman.</p> + +<p>"The girl became serious when she saw that I was speaking in earnest. +Little by little she began to slip from my knees until she was on her +feet, eyeing me fixedly, as if she saw before her some strange person +and an invisible wall had arisen between the two.</p> + +<p>"'Go back to my home!' she exclaimed in harsh accents. 'Many thanks. I +know very well what that means. Get up before dawn, work like a slave, +go out in the fields, ruin your hands with callouses. Look, see how my +hands still show them.'</p> + +<p>"And she made me feel the rough lumps that rose on the palms of her +strong hands.</p> + +<p>"'And all this, in exchange for what? For being respectable?... Not a +bit of it! I'm not that crazy. So much for respectability!'</p> + +<p>"And she accompanied these words with some indecent motions that she had +picked up from her companions.</p> + +<p>"Afterwards, humming a tune, she went over to the mirror to survey +herself, and smilingly greeted the reflection of her powdered hair, +covered with false<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> pearls, which shone out of the cracked mirror. She +contracted her lips, which were rouged like those of a clown.</p> + +<p>"Growing more and more firm in my virtuous rôle, I continued to +sermonize her from my chair, enveloping this hypocritical propaganda in +sonorous words. She was making a bad choice; she must think of the +future. The present could not be worse. What was she? Less than a slave; +a piece of furniture; they exploited her, they robbed her, and +afterwards ... afterwards it would be still worse; the hospital, +repulsive diseases ...</p> + +<p>"But again her harsh laughter interrupted me.</p> + +<p>"'Quit it, boy. Don't bother me.'</p> + +<p>"And planting herself before me she wrapped me in a gaze of infinite +compassion.</p> + +<p>"'Why my dear fellow, how silly you are! Do you imagine that I can go +back to that dog's life, after having tasted this one?... No, sir! I was +born for luxury.'</p> + +<p>"And, with devoted admiration sweeping her glance across the broken +chairs, the faded sofa, and that bed which was a public thoroughfare, +she began to walk up and down, revelling in the rustle of her train as +it dragged across the room, and caressing the folds of that gown which +seemed to preserve the warmth of the other girl's body."<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="RABIES" id="RABIES"></a>RABIES</h2> + +<p class="nind">F<small>ROM</small> all the countryside the neighbors of the <i>huerta</i> flocked to +<i>Caldera's</i> cabin, entering it with a certain meekness, a mingling of +emotion and fear.</p> + +<p>How was the boy? Was he improving?... Uncle Pascal, surrounded by his +wife, his daughters-in-law and even the most distant relatives, who had +been gathered together by misfortune, received with melancholy +satisfaction this interest of the entire vicinity in the health of his +son. Yes, he was getting better. For two days he had not been attacked +by that horrible <i>thing</i> which set the cabin in commotion. And +<i>Caldera's</i> laconic farmer friends, as well as the women, who were +vociferous in the expression of their emotions, appeared at the +threshold of the room, asking timidly, "How do you feel?"</p> + +<p>The only son of <i>Caldera</i> was in there, sometimes in bed, in obedience +to his mother, who could conceive of no illness without the cup of hot +water and seclusion between the bed-sheets; at other times he sat up, +his jaws supported by his hands, gazing obstinately into the furthermost +corner of the room. His father, wrinkling his shaggy white brows, would +walk about when left alone, or, through force of habit, take a look at +the neighboring fields, but without any desire to bend<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> over and pluck +out any of the weeds that were beginning to sprout in the furrows. Much +this land mattered to him now,—the earth in whose bowels he had left +the sweat of his body and the strength of his limbs!... His son was all +he had,—the fruit of a late marriage,—and he was a sturdy youth, as +industrious and taciturn as his father; a soldier of the soil, who +required neither orders nor threat to fulfil his duties; ready to awake +at midnight when it was his turn to irrigate his land and give the +fields drink under the light of the stars; quick to spring from his bed +on the hard kitchen bench, throwing off the covers and putting on his +hemp sandals at the sound of the early rooster's reveille.</p> + +<p>Uncle Pascal had never smiled. He was the Latin type of father; the +fearful master of the house, who, on returning from his labors, ate +alone, served by his wife, who stood by with an expression of +submission. But this grave, harsh mask of an omnipotent master concealed +a boundless admiration for his son, who was his best work. How quickly +he loaded a cart! How he perspired as he managed the hoe with a vigorous +forward and backward motion that seemed to cleave him at the waist! Who +could ride a pony like him, gracefully jumping on to his back by simply +resting the toe of a sandal upon the hind legs of the animal?... He +didn't touch wine, never got mixed up in a brawl, nor was he afraid of +work. Through good luck he had pulled a high number in the military +draft, and when the feast of San Juan came around he intended to marry a +girl from a near-by farm,—a maiden that would bring with her a few +pieces of earth when she came to the cabin of her new parents. +Happiness; an honorable<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> and peaceful continuation of the family +traditions; another <i>Caldera</i>, who, when Uncle Pascal grew old, would +continue to work the lands that had been fructified by his ancestors, +while a troop of little <i>Calderitas</i>, increasing in number each year, +would play around the nag harnessed to the plow, eyeing with a certain +awe their grandpa, his eyes watery from age and his words very concise, +as he sat in the sun at the cabin door.</p> + +<p>Christ! And how man's illusions vanish!... One Saturday, as Pascualet +was coming home from his sweetheart's house, along one of the paths of +the <i>huerta</i>, about midnight, a dog had bitten him; a wretched, silent +animal that jumped out from behind a sluice; as the young man crouched +to throw a stone at it, the dog bit into his shoulder. His mother, who +used to wait for him on the nights when he went courting, burst into +wailing when she saw the livid semicircle, with its red stain left by +the dog's teeth, and she bustled about the hut preparing poultices and +drinks.</p> + +<p>The youth laughed at his mother's fears. "Quiet, mother, quiet!" It +wasn't the first time that a dog had bitten him. His body still showed +faint signs of bites that he had received in childhood, when he used to +go through the <i>huerta</i> throwing stones at the dogs. Old <i>Caldera</i> spoke +to him from bed, without displaying any emotion. On the following day he +was to go to the veterinary and have his flesh cauterized by a burning +iron. So he ordered, and there was nothing further to be said about the +matter. The young man submitted without flinching to the operation, like +a good, brave chap of the Valencian <i>huerta</i>. He had four days' rest in +all, and even at that, his fondness for work<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> caused him new sufferings +and he aided his father with pain-tortured arm. Saturdays, when he came +to his sweetheart's farmhouse, she always asked after his health. "How's +the bite getting along?" He would shrug his shoulders gleefully before +the eyes of the maiden and the two would finally sit down in a corner of +the kitchen, remaining in mute contemplation of each other, or speaking +of the clothes and the bed for their future home, without daring to come +close to each other; there they sat erect and solemn, leaving between +their bodies a space "wide enough for a sickle to pass through," as the +girl's father smilingly put it.</p> + +<p>More than a month passed by. <i>Caldera's</i> wife was the only one that did +not forget the accident. She followed her son about with anxious +glances. Ah, sovereign queen! The <i>huerta</i> seemed to have been abandoned +by God and His holy mother. Over at Templat's cabin a child was +suffering the agonies of hell through having been bitten by a mad dog. +All the <i>huerta</i> folk were running in terror to have a look at the poor +creature; a spectacle that she herself did not dare to gaze upon because +she was thinking of her own son. If her Pascualet, as tall and sturdy as +a tower, were to meet with the same fate as that unfortunate child!...</p> + +<p>One day, at dawn, <i>Caldera's</i> son was unable to arise from his kitchen +bench, and his mother helped him walk to the large nuptial bed, which +occupied a part of the <i>estudi</i>, the best room in the cabin. He was +feverish, and complained of acute pain in the spot where he had been +bitten; an awful chill ran through his whole body, making his teeth +chatter and veiling his eyes with a yellowish opacity. Don Jose, the +oldest doctor in the<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> <i>huerta</i>, came on his ancient mare, with his +eternal recipe of purgatives for every class of illness, and bandages +soaked in salt water for wounds. Upon examining the sick man he made a +wry face. Bad! Bad! This was a more serious matter; they would have to +go to the solemn doctors in Valencia, who knew more than he. <i>Caldera's</i> +wife saw her husband harness the cart and compel Pascualet to get into +it. The boy, relieved of his pain, smiled assent, saying that now he +felt nothing more than a slight twinge. When they returned to the cabin +the father seemed to be more at ease. A doctor from the city had pricked +Pascualet's sore. He was a very serious gentleman, who gave Pascualet +courage with his kind words, looking intently at him all the while, and +expressing regret that he had waited so long before coming to him. For a +week the two men made a daily trip to Valencia, but one morning the boy +was unable to move. That crisis which made the poor mother groan with +fear had returned with greater intensity than before. The boy's teeth +knocked together, and he uttered a wail that stained the corners of his +mouth with froth; his eyes seemed to swell, becoming yellow and +protruding like huge grape seeds; he tried to pull himself together, +writhing from the internal torture, and his mother hung upon his neck, +shrieking with terror; meanwhile <i>Caldera</i>, grimly silent, seized his +son's arms with tranquil strength, struggling to prevent his violent +convulsions.</p> + +<p>"My son! My son!" cried the mother. Ah, her son! Scarcely could she +recognize him as she saw him in this condition. He seemed like another, +as if only his former exterior had remained,—as if an infernal<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> monster +had lodged within and was martyrizing this flesh that had come out of +her own womb, appearing at his eyes with livid flashes.</p> + +<p>Afterwards came calm stupor, and all the women of the district gathered +in the kitchen and deliberated upon the lot of the sick youth, cursing +the city doctor and his diabolical incisions. It was his fault that the +boy now lay thus; before the boy had submitted to the cure he had felt +much better. The bandit! And the government never punished these wicked +souls!... There were no other remedies than the old, true and tried +ones,—the product of the experience of people who had lived years ago +and thus knew much more. One of the neighbors went off to hunt up a +certain witch, a miraculous doctor for dog-bites, serpent bites and +scorpion-stings. Another brought a blind old goatherd, who could cure by +the virtue of his mouth, simply by making some crosses of saliva over +the ailing flesh. The drinks made of mountain herbs and the moist signs +of the goatherd were looked upon as tokens of immediate cure, especially +when they beheld the sick youth lie silent and motionless for several +hours, looking at the ground with a certain amazement, as if he could +feel within him the progress of something strange that grew and grew, +gradually overpowering him. Then, when the crisis re-occurred, the doubt +of the women began to rise, and new remedies were discussed. The youth's +sweetheart came, with her large black eyes moistened by tears, and she +advanced timidly until she came near to the sick boy. For the first time +she dared to take his hand, blushing beneath her cinnamon-colored +<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>complexion at this audacious act. "How do you feel?"... And he, so +loving in other days, recoiled from her tender touch, turning his eyes +away so that he should not see her, as if ashamed of his plight. His +mother wept. Queen of heaven! He was very low; he was going to die. If +only they could find out what dog it was that had bitten him, and cut +out its tongue, using it for a miraculous plaster, as experienced +persons advised!...</p> + +<p>Throughout the <i>huerta</i> it seemed that God's own wrath had burst forth. +Some dogs had bitten others; now nobody knew which were the dangerous +ones and which the safe. All mad! The children were secluded in the +cabins, spying with terrified glances upon the vast fields, through the +half-open doors; mothers journeyed over the winding paths in close +groups, uneasy, trembling, hastening their step whenever a bark sounded +from behind the sluices of the canals; men eyed the domestic dogs with +fear, intently watching their slavering mouths as they gasped or their +sad eyes; the agile greyhound, their hunting companion,—the barking +cur, guardian of the home,—the ugly mastiff who walked along tied to +the cart, which he watched over during the master's absence,—all were +placed under their owners' observation or coldly sacrificed behind the +walls of the corral, without any display of emotion whatever.</p> + +<p>"Here they come! Here they come!" was the shout passed along from cabin +to cabin, announcing the patter of a pack of dogs, howling, ravenous, +their bodies covered with mud, running about without finding rest, +driven on day and night, with the madness of persecution in their eyes. +The <i>huerta</i> seemed to shudder, closing the doors of all the houses and +suddenly bristling with guns. Shots rang out from the sluices, from the<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> +high corn-fields, from cabin windows, and when the wanderers, repelled +and persecuted on every side, in their mad gallop dashed toward the sea, +as if they were attracted by the moist, invigorating air that was washed +by the waves, the revenue-guards camped on the wide strip of beach +brought their mausers to their cheeks and received them with a volley. +The dogs retreated, escaping among the men who were approaching them +musket in hand, and one or another of them would be stretched out at the +edge of the canal. At night, the noisy gloom of the plain was broken by +the sight of distant flashes and the sound of discharges. Every shape +that moved in the darkness was the target for a bullet; the muffled +howls that sounded in the vicinity of the cabins were answered by shots. +The men were afraid of this common terror, and avoided meeting.</p> + +<p>No sooner did night fall than the <i>huerta</i> was left without a light, +without a person upon the roads, as if death had taken possession of the +dismal plain, so green and smiling under the sun. A single red spot, a +tear of light, trembled in this obscurity. It was <i>Caldera's</i> cabin, +where the women, squatting upon the floor, around the kitchen lamp, +sighed with fright, anticipating the strident shriek of the sick +youth,—the chattering of his teeth, the violent contortions of his body +whenever he was seized with convulsions, struggling to repel the arms +that tried to quiet him.</p> + +<p>The mother hung upon the neck of that raving patient who struck terror +to men. She scarcely knew him; he was somebody else, with those eyes +that popped out of their sockets, his livid or blackish countenance, his +writhings, like that of a tortured animal, showing his tongue as he +gasped through bubbles of froth in the<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> agonies of an insatiable thirst. +He begged for death in heart-rending shrieks; he struck his head against +the wall; he tried to bite; but even so, he was her child and she did +not feel the fear experienced by the others. His menacing mouth withdrew +before the wan face that was moistened with tears. "Mother! Mother!" He +recognized her in his lucid moments. She need not fear him; he would +never bite her. And as if he must sink his teeth into something or other +to glut his rage, he bit into his arms until the blood came.</p> + +<p>"My son! My son!" moaned the mother and she wiped the deadly froth from +his lips, afterwards carrying the handkerchief to her eyes, without fear +of contagion. <i>Caldera</i>, in his solemn gravity, paid no heed to the +sufferer's threatening eyes, which were fixed upon him with an impulse +of attack. The boy had lost his awe of his father.</p> + +<p>That powerful man, however, facing the peril of his son's mouth, thrust +him back into bed whenever the madman tried to flee, as if he must +spread everywhere the horrible affliction that was devouring his +entrails.</p> + +<p>No longer were the crises followed by extended intervals of calm. They +became almost continuous, and the victim writhed about, clawed and +bleeding from his own bites, his face almost black, his eyes tremulous +and yellow, looking like some monstrous beast set apart from all the +human species. The old doctor had stopped asking about the youth. What +was the use? It was all over. The women wept hopelessly. Death was +certain. They only bewailed the long hours, perhaps days, of horrible +torture that poor Pascualet would have to undergo.</p> + +<p><i>Caldera</i> was unable to find among his relatives or<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> friends any men +brave enough to help him restrain the sufferer in his violent moments. +They all looked with terror at the door to the <i>estudi</i>, as if behind it +were concealed the greatest of dangers. To go shooting through roads and +canals was man's work. A stab could be returned; one bullet could answer +another; but ah! that frothing mouth which killed with a bite!... that +incurable disease which made men writhe in endless agony, like a lizard +sliced by a hoe!</p> + +<p>He no longer knew his mother. In his final moments of lucidity he had +thrust her away with loving brusqueness. She must go!... Let him not see +her again!... He feared to do her harm! The poor woman's friends dragged +her out of the room, forcing her to remain motionless, like her son, in +a corner of the kitchen. <i>Caldera</i>, with a supreme effort of his dying +will, tied the agonizing youth to the bed. His beetling brows trembled +and the tears made him blink as he tied the coarse knots of the rope, +fastening the youth to the bed upon which he had been born. He felt as +if he were preparing his son for burial and had begun to dig his grave. +The victim twisted in wild contortions under the father's strong arms; +the parent had to make a powerful effort to subdue him under the rope +that sank into his flesh.... To have lived so many years only to behold +himself at last obliged to perform such a task! To give life to a +creature, only to pray that it might be extinguished as soon as +possible, horrified by so much useless pain!... Good God in heaven! Why +not put an end to the poor boy at once, since his death was now +inevitable?...</p> + +<p>He closed the door of the sick room, fleeing from<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> the rasping shriek +that set everybody's hair on end; but the madman's panting continued to +sound in the silence of the cabin, accompanied by the lamentations of +the mother and the weeping of the other women grouped around the lamp +that had just been lighted.</p> + +<p><i>Caldera</i> stamped upon the floor. Let the women be silent! But for the +first time he beheld himself disobeyed, and he left the cabin, fleeing +from this chorus of grief.</p> + +<p>Night descended. His gaze wandered toward the thin yellow band that was +visible on the horizon, marking the flight of day. Above his head shone +the stars. From the other homes, which were scarcely visible, resounded +the neighing of horses, barking, and the clucking of fowl—the last +signs of animal life before it sank to rest. That primitive man felt an +impression of emptiness amid the Nature which was insensible and blind +to the sufferings of its creatures. Of what concern to the points of +light that looked down upon him from above could be that which he was +now going through?... All creatures were equal; the beasts that +disturbed the silence of dusk before falling asleep, and that poor youth +similar to him, who now lay fettered, writhing in the worst of agony. +How many illusions his life had contained!... And with a mere bite, a +wretched animal kicked about by all men could finish them all. And no +remedy existed in heaven or upon earth!...</p> + +<p>Once again the distant shriek of the sufferer came to his ears from the +open window of the <i>estudi</i>. The tenderness of his early days of +paternity emerged from the depths of his soul. He recalled the nights he +had spent awake in that room, walking up and down, holding<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> in his arms +the little child that was crying from the pains of infancy's illness. +Now he lay crying, too, but without hope, in the agonies of a hell that +had come before its time, and at last ... death.</p> + +<p>His countenance grew frightened, and he raised his hands to his forehead +as if trying to drive away a troublesome thought. Then he appeared to +deliberate... Why not?...</p> + +<p>"To end his suffering ... to end his suffering!"</p> + +<p>He went back to the cabin, only to come out at once with his old +double-barrelled musket, and he hastened to the little window of the +sick room as if he feared to lose his determination; he thrust the gun +through the opening.</p> + +<p>Again he heard the agonizing panting, the chattering of teeth, the +horrible shriek, now very near, as if he were at the victim's bedside. +His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, saw the bed at the back of the +gloomy room, and the form that lay writhing in it—the pale spot of the +face, appearing and disappearing as the sick man twisted about +desperately.</p> + +<p>The father was frightened at the trembling of his hands and the +agitation of his pulse; he, the son of the <i>huerta</i>, without any other +diversion than the hunt, accustomed to shoot down birds almost without +aiming at them.</p> + +<p>The wailing of the poor mother brought back to his memory other groans +of long long ago—twenty-two years before—when she was giving birth to +her only son upon that same bed.</p> + +<p>To come to such an end!... His eyes, gazing heavenward, saw a black sky, +intensely black, with not a star in sight, and obscured by his +tears....<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a></p> + +<p>"Lord! To end his sufferings! To end his sufferings!"</p> + +<p>And repeating these words he pressed the musket against his shoulder, +seeking the lock with a tremulous finger.... Bang! Bang!<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" +style="border:2px dotted black;padding:2%;margin-top:2%;"> +<tr><th align="center">The following typographical errors were corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> +<tr><td>There is a curious contradition=>There is a curious contradiction</td></tr> +<tr><td>Segrada threw his cards=>Sagreda threw his cards</td></tr> +<tr><td>His eyes, opened extraordinarly=>His eyes, opened extraordinarily</td></tr> +<tr><td>flocked to <i>Caldera's</i> cavin=>flocked to <i>Caldera's</i> cabin</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="block2"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><th align="center" colspan="3">INTERNATIONAL: POCKET: LIBRARY</th></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">———————</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">1.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mademoiselle Fifi</span></td><td align="right"><i>Guy de Maupassant</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Joseph Conrad</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">2.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Two Tales</span></td><td align="right"><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Foreword by Wilson Follett</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">3.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Two Wessex Tales</span></td><td align="right"><i>Thomas Hardy</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Conrad Aiken</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">4.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Modern Russian Classics</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Stories by Andreyev, Solgub, Gorki, Tchekov,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Babel, and Artzibashev. Foreword by Issac Goldberg</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">5.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Candide</span></td><td align="right"><i>Voltaire</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Andre Morize</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">6.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Last Lion</span></td><td align="right"><i>Vicente Blasco Ibáñez</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Mariano Joaquin Lorente</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">7.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Shropshire Lad</span></td><td align="right"><i>A. E. Housman</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Preface by William Stanley Braithwaite</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">8.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Gitanjali</span></td><td align="right"><i>Rabindranath Tagore</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by W. B. Yeats</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">9.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Book of François Villon</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by H. De Vere Stacpoole</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">10.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hound of Heaven</span></td><td align="right"><i>Francis Thompson</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by G. K. Chesterton</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">11.</td><td align="left"><i>Coloured Stars</i></td><td align="right">Edited by <i>Edward Powys Mathers</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">12.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam</span></td><td align="right"><i>Edward Fitzgerald</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">With Decorations by Elihu Vedder</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">13.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Importance of Being Earnest</span></td><td align="right"><i>Oscar Wilde</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">14.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Five Modern Plays</span></td><td align="right"> <i>O'Neill, Schnitzler, Dunsany,<br /> +Maeterlinck, Richard Hughes</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">15.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Three Irish Plays</span></td><td align="right"> J<i>. M. Synge, Douglas Hyde,</i><br /> +and <i>W. B. Yeats</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Harrison Hale Schaff</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">16.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Greatest Thing in the World</span></td><td align="right"><i>Henry Drummond</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by Elizabeth Towne</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">17.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Symposium of Plato</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Introduction by <i>B. Jowett, M.A.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">18.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Wisdom of Confucius</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Edited by <i>Miles M. Dawson</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">19.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Alice in Wonderland</span></td><td align="right"><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">20.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Through the Looking-glass</span></td><td align="right"><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">—————</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Other Titles in Preparation</span></td></tr> +</table> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Lion and Other Tales, by +Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 39062-h.htm or 39062-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/0/6/39062/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +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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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/license + + +Title: The Last Lion and Other Tales + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibanez + +Commentator: Mariano Joaquin Lorente + +Release Date: March 5, 2012 [EBook #39062] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + +INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY EDITED BY EDMUND R. BROWN + + + + + +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES + +BY VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ + +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY MARIANO JOAQUIN LORENTE + +BOSTON INTERNATIONAL POCKET LIBRARY + +_Copyright, 1919, by_ JOHN W. LUCE & COMPANY + +Reprinted by arrangement with John W. Luce & Company. All Rights +Reserved. + +First printing, 2,000 copies Second printing, 5,000 copies Third +printing, 10,000 copies + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC., +CLINTON, MASS. + + + + +THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES + + + + +VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ + + +Don Vicente Blasco Ibanez was born on the 29th of January, 1867, in the +city of Valencia, that same picturesque sunshiny Valencia which was +captured from the Moors by the formidable Cid a little over eight +centuries ago. But Blasco Ibanez is a _valenciano_ only by birth, for +his family came from the old kingdom of Aragon. + +The Aragonese are a sturdy, hardworking, adventurous people, somewhat +stubborn, suicidally valorous, passionately independent, fanatically +religious, fond of music and of the honest pleasures of life. Their +adventurous spirit led them in ages gone by as far as Asia Minor, where, +with the Catalonians, they gave a good account of themselves. They +fought against the Moors as doughtily as did the Castilians, and when +their kingdom was united to that of Castile, under Isabella and +Ferdinand, Granada was conquered and Mahomedan domination in Spain +ceased for ever. The great Napoleon had no fiercer antagonists than the +Aragonese, and when, after two sieges, his troops took Saragossa, they +found in it nothing but corpses and ashes. The Aragonese were so jealous +of their liberties that when one of their kings was being crowned, the +Chief Justice of Aragon, addressing His Majesty in the familiar form, +reminded him that they, the people, were greater than their king, +"_somos mas que tu_". + +Of his Aragonese ancestry, we find in Blasco Ibanez the intense love of +freedom, the adventurous spirit and the untiring energy for work. + +Blasco Ibanez was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth; his earlier +years were a continual struggle for existence in which he made a close +acquaintance with poverty and even hunger. He followed many trades and +occupied, after a hard hunt, minor clerical positions. Yet, he managed +to study law and at the age of eighteen he was a full fledged lawyer. + +His studies may have impressed him with the august majesty of the law, +but did not imbue him with any respect for the then existing government, +and he proceeded to write a sonnet which gave full vent to his contempt +for it. + +Considering that many sonneteers escape the gallows they so richly +deserve for their miserable productions, it was hard on Blasco Ibanez +that he should have to go to jail for a period "not exceeding six +months," but perhaps it was just as well for him, as he no doubt has +made good use of his experience. + +Jails, as we all know, are not meant to correct political ideas: they +are merely punitive institutions. Blasco Ibanez took his punishment like +the man he is, and at the first opportunity attacked the government with +renewed vigor and was banished from Spain. During his exile, Blasco +Ibanez lived in France and visited Italy. + +Returning to Valencia after an amnesty, he founded a newspaper, "El +Pueblo" (The People) in 1891. From the columns of his paper, which he +still edits, he continued his fight "agin' the government," advocating a +republican form of government. He became a leader in the Republican +party and was elected Deputy to the Spanish Parliament, for the city of +Valencia, six consecutive times. + +Though his political career has been a most strenuous one, it by no +means exhausted his tremendous energy, and he managed at the same time +to do an immense amount of literary work. As a young man, he became +secretary to Manuel Fernandez y Gonzalez, a prolific writer--he is said +to have written over three hundred novels--whose name has been almost +forgotten. Fernandez y Gonzalez was an old man when Blasco Ibanez made +his acquaintance, and it often happened that the old man, exhausted by +age, or merely feeling heavy after a hearty meal, fell asleep while +dictating to his young secretary. Blasco Ibanez, however, did not stop +writing; he let his own fancy do the dictating, for a change, and he +continued the novel until the old man woke up of his own accord. Then, +he read what he had written, and Fernandez y Gonzalez, who must have had +good literary taste, was generally delighted with the collaboration. + +It is extremely doubtful whether Fernandez y Gonzalez had any influence +on Blasco Ibanez as a writer. He was an excellent example of an +energetic worker ... and that is all. But Blasco Ibanez did not need any +such examples. He is, and has always been, activity personified. + +While Blasco Ibanez was actively engaged in political warfare, editing +his own paper, contributing radical articles to other papers and +periodicals, issuing innumerable pamphlets, preparing speeches, and +addressing meetings, he still found time to write novels. Seventeen +novels, two books of short stories, and three of travels stand to his +name, as well as many uncollected critical and biographical essays. + +His first novels were written at odd moments, after he had edited "El +Pueblo" and attended to political business. In later years, he has +devoted less time to politics and more to literature. Whereas his +earlier novels required little preparation, for they deal with his +native city, which he has known all his life, his later works represent +a gigantic amount of study and forethought, for Blasco Ibanez is nothing +if not thorough. He studies his characters at first hand. When he was +preparing _Flor de Mayo_, he became one of those tobacco smugglers of +whom he speaks; he obtained his material for _La Horda_ by living with +the scum of Madrid and joining some of the poachers in their excursions +to the royal preserves at El Pardo, thereby running the risk of being +shot at sight by the guards; later on, while he was planning _Los +Muertos Mandan_, he joined the fishermen on the coast of Ibiza, in the +Balearic Islands, and having been caught in a storm, nearly lost his +life; he lived a long time among bullfighters before writing _Sangre y +Arena_ and became intimately acquainted with the famous "espada" Antonio +Fuentes. + +As if all the activities we have enumerated were not enough to keep an +ordinary Hercules busy for a life-time, Blasco Ibanez has been +interested for many years in a publishing firm which has been the means +of introducing into Spain what is more instructive or interesting in the +literatures of other countries. Some of the publications of this +firm--Prometeo, of Valencia--bear witness to the indefatigable energy of +the man. Such are the "New Universal History," by Lavisse and Rambaud, +of which ten volumes have thus far been published; the "History of the +French Revolution," by Michelet, in three volumes; the "New Universal +Geography," by Reclus; "The Thousand Nights and One Night," all of them +translated by Blasco Ibanez. The same firm is now publishing a +monumental "History of the European War of 1914," from the pen of Blasco +Ibanez. Six ponderous tomes of this work have already been published. + +Blasco Ibanez has travelled extensively. He has visited most of Europe, +the Near East, and Argentina. In the latter country, he has acquired +some land and has founded a colony. + +There is a curious contradiction between Blasco Ibanez' personal +appearance and his life's activities. In his younger days, when he was +more of a man of action than to-day, he wore a curly beard and a +mustache that grew untouched by scissors. They gave him an artistic +appearance and harmonized well with the rest of his features. In those +days he was a decidedly handsome man. To-day, when he is more of an +artist, perhaps, than a man of action, the beard has disappeared and the +mustache is close-cropped. The hairy camouflage, sacrificed--as we +suspect--to the goddess of Anglo-Saxon fashion, concealed a determined +chin and two deep lines, running from the base of the nose to the +corners of his mouth, that give him an energetic air. His forehead is +now larger than ever, for he is getting somewhat bald; his eyes are +piercing, with moderate eyebrows and slightly puffed lower eyelids, and +they have lost that touch of dreaminess they had in their younger days; +his nose is large and shapely modelled, his face broad and fleshy, his +ears round and big. Altogether, his head--supported by a short bullish +neck--is that of a deep thinker, a sharp observer, and active energetic +man, and withal a _bon vivant_. In other words, a true Aragonese. + +_Ecce homo!_ + +MARIANO JOAQUIN LORENTE + + + + +CONTENTS + + Page + +The Last Lion 15 + +The Toad 26 + +Compassion 36 + +The Windfall 46 + +Luxury 56 + +Rabies 61 + + + + +THE LAST LION + + +Scarcely had the meeting of the honorable guild of _blanquers_ come to +order within its chapel near the towers of Serranos, when Senor Vicente +asked for the floor. He was the oldest tanner in Valencia. Many masters +recalled their apprentice days and declared that he was the same now as +then, with his white, brush-like mustache, his face that looked like a +sun of wrinkles, his aggressive eyes and cadaverous thinness, as if all +the sap of his life had been consumed in the daily motions of his feet +and hands about the vats of the tannery. + +He was the only representative of the guild's glories, the sole survivor +of those _blanquers_ who were an honor to Valencian history. The +grandchildren of his former companions had become corrupted with the +march of time; they were proprietors of large establishments, with +thousands of workmen, but they would be lost if they ever had to tan a +skin with their soft, business-man's hands. Only he could call himself a +_blanquer_ of the old school, working every day in his little hut near +the guild house; master and toiler at the same time, with no other +assistants than his sons and grandchildren; his workshop was of the old +kind, amid sweet domestic surroundings, with neither threats of strikes +nor quarrels over the day's pay. + +The centuries had raised the level of the street, converting Senor +Vicente's shop into a gloomy cave. The door through which his ancestors +had entered had grown smaller and smaller from the bottom until it had +become little more than a window. Five stairs connected the street with +the damp floor of the tannery, and above, near a pointed arch, a relic +of medieval Valencia, floated like banners the skins that had been hung +up to dry, wafting about the unbearable odor of the leather. The old man +by no means envied the _moderns_, in their luxuriously appointed +business offices. Surely they blushed with shame on passing through his +lane and seeing him, at breakfast hour, taking the sun,--his sleeves and +trousers rolled up, showing his thin arms and legs, stained red,--with +the pride of a robust old age that permitted him to battle daily with +the hides. + +Valencia was preparing to celebrate the centenary of one of its famous +saints, and the guild of _blanquers_, like the other historic guilds, +wished to make its contribution to the festivities. Senor Vicente, with +the prestige of his years, imposed his will upon all the masters. The +_blanquers_ should remain what they were. All the glories of the past, +long sequestrated in the chapel, must figure in the procession. And it +was high time they were displayed in public! His gaze, wandering about +the chapel, seemed to caress the guild's relics; the sixteenth century +drums, as large as jars, that preserved within their drumheads the +hoarse cries of revolutionary Germania; the great lantern of carved +wood, torn from the prow of a galley; the red silk banner of the guild, +edged with gold that had become greenish through the ages. + +All this must be displayed during the celebration, shaking off the dust +of oblivion; even the famous lion of the _blanquers_! + +The _moderns_ burst into impious laughter. The lion, too?... Yes, the +lion, too. To Senor Vicente it seemed a dishonor on the part of the +guild to forget that glorious beast. The ancient ballads, the accounts +of celebrations that might be read in the city archives, the old folks +who had lived in the splendid epoch of the guilds with their fraternal +camaraderie,--all spoke of the _blanquers'_ lion; but now nobody knew +the animal, and this was a shame for the trade, a loss to the city. + +Their lion was as great a glory as the silk mart or the well of San +Vicente. He knew very well the reason for this opposition on the part of +the _moderns_. They feared to assume the role of the lion. Never fear, +my young fellows! He, with his burden of years, numbered more than +seventy, would claim his honor. It belonged to him in all justice; his +father, his grandfather, his countless ancestors, had all been lions, +and he felt equal to coming to blows with anybody who would dare dispute +his right to the role of the lion, traditional in his family. + +With what enthusiasm Senor Vicente related the history of the lion and +the heroic _blanquers_. One day the Barbary pirates from Bujia had +landed at Torreblanca, just beyond Castellon, and sacked the church, +carrying off the Shrine. This happened a little before the time of Saint +Vicente Ferrer, for the old tanner had no other way of explaining +history than by dividing it into two periods; before and after the +Saint.... The population, which was scarcely moved by the raids of the +pirates, hearing of the abduction of pale maidens with large black eyes +and plump figures, destined for the harem, as if this were an inevitable +misfortune, broke into cries of grief upon learning of the sacrilege at +Torreblanca. + +The churches of the town were draped in black; people went through the +streets wailing loudly, striking themselves as a punishment. What could +those dogs do with the blessed Host? What would become of the poor, +defenseless Shrine?... Then it was that the valiant _blanquers_ came +upon the scene. Was not the Shrine at Bujia? Then on to Bujia in quest +of it! They reasoned like heroes accustomed to beating hides all day +long, and they saw nothing formidable about beating the enemies of God. +At their own expense they fitted out a galley and the whole guild went +aboard, carrying along their beautiful banner; the other guilds, and +indeed the entire town, followed this example and chartered other +vessels. + +The Justice himself cast aside his scarlet gown and covered himself with +mail from head to foot; the worthy councilmen abandoned the benches of +the Golden Chamber, shielding their paunches with scales that shone like +those of the fishes in the gulf; the hundred archers of la Pluma, who +guarded _la Senera_, filled their quivers with arrows, and the Jews from +the quarter of la Xedrea did a rushing business, selling all their old +iron, including lances, notched swords and rusty corselets, in exchange +for good, ringing pieces of silver. + +And off sped the Valencian galleys, with their jib-sails spread to the +wind, convoyed by a shoal of dolphins, which sported about in the foam +of their prows!... When the Moors beheld them approaching, the infidels +began to tremble, repenting of their irreverence toward the Shrine. And +this, despite the fact that they were a set of hardened old dogs. +Valencians, headed by the valiant _blanquers_! Who, indeed, would dare +face them! + +The battle raged for several days and nights, according to the tale of +Senor Vicente. Reinforcements of Moors arrived, but the Valencians, +loyal and fierce, fought to the death. And they were already beginning +to feel exhausted from the labor of disembowelling so many infidels, +when behold, from a neighboring mountain a lion comes walking down on +his hind paws, for all the world like a regular person, carrying in his +forepaws, most reverently, the Shrine,--the Shrine that had been stolen +from Torreblanca! The beast delivered it ceremoniously into the hands of +one of the guild, undoubtedly an ancestor of Senor Vicente, and hence +for centuries his family had possessed the privilege of representing +that amiable animal in the Valencian processions. + +Then he shook his mane, emitted a roar, and with blows and bites in +every direction cleared the field instantly of Moors. + +The Valencians sailed for home, carrying the Shrine back like a trophy. +The chief of the _blanquers_ saluted the lion, courteously offering him +the guild house, near the towers of Serranos, which he could consider as +his own. Many thanks; the beast was accustomed to the sun of Africa and +feared a change of climate. + +But the trade was not ungrateful, and to perpetuate the happy +recollection of the shaggy-maned friend whom they possessed on the other +shore of the sea, every time the guild banner floated in the Valencian +celebrations, there marched behind it an ancestor of Senor Vicente, to +the sound of drums, and he was covered with hide, with a mask that was +the living image of the worthy lion, bearing in his hands a Shrine of +wood, so small and poor that it caused one to doubt the genuine value of +Torreblanca's own Shrine. + +Perverse and irreverent persons even dared to affirm, to the great +indignation of Senor Vicente, that the whole story was a lie. Sheer +envy! Ill will of the other trades, which couldn't point to such a +glorious history! There was the guild chapel as proof, and in it the +lantern from the prow of the vessel, which the conscienceless wretches +declared dated from many centuries after the supposed battle; and there +were the guild drums, and the glorious banner; and the moth-eaten hide +of the lion, in which all his predecessors had encased themselves, lay +now forgotten behind the altar, covered with cobwebs and dust, but it +was none the less as authentic and worthy of reverence as the stones of +el Miguelete.[A] + +[A] A belfry in Valencia. + +And above all there was his faith, ardent and incontrovertible, capable +of receiving as an affront to the family the slightest irreverence +toward the African lion, the illustrious friend of the guild. + +The procession took place on an afternoon in June. The sons, the +daughters-in-law, and the grandsons of Senor Vicente helped him to get +into the costume of the lion, perspiring most uncomfortably at the mere +touch of that red-stained wool. "Father, you're going to +roast."--"Grandpa, you'll melt inside of this costume." + +The old man, however, deaf to the warnings of the family, shook his +moth-eaten mane with pride, thinking of his ancestors; then he tried on +the terrifying mask, a cardboard arrangement that imitated, with a faint +resemblance, the countenance of the wild beast. + +What a triumphant afternoon! The streets crowded with spectators; the +balconies decorated with bunting, and upon them rows of variegated +bonnets shading fair faces from the sun; the ground covered with myrtle, +forming a green, odorous carpet whose perfume seemed to expand the +lungs. + +The procession was headed by the standard-bearers, with beards of hemp, +crowns, and striped dalmatics, holding aloft the Valencian banners +adorned with enormous bats and large L's beside the coat of arms; then, +to the sound of the flageolet, the retinue of wild Indians, shepherds +from Bethlehem, Catalans and Majorcans; following these passed the +dwarfs with their monstrously huge heads, clicking the castanets to the +rhythm of a Moorish march; behind these came the giants of the Corpus +and at the end, the banners of the guilds; an endless row of red +standards, faded with the years, and so tall that their tops reached +higher than the first stories of the buildings. + +Plom! Rotoplom! rolled the drums of the _blanquers_,--instruments of +barbarous sonority, so large that their weight forced the drummers to +bow their necks. Plom! Rotoplom! they resounded, hoarse and menacing, +with savage solemnity, as if they were still marking the tread of the +revolutionary guild regiments, sallying forth to the encounter with the +emperor's young leader,--that Don Juan of Aragon, duke of Segorbe, who +served Victor Hugo as the model for his romantic personage _Hernani_! +Plom! Rotoplom! The people ran for good places and jostled one another +to obtain a better view of the guild members, bursting into laughter and +shouts. What was that? A monkey?... A wild man?... Ah! The faith of the +past was truly laughable. + +The young members of the trade, their shirts open at the neck and their +sleeves rolled up, took turns at carrying the heavy banner, performing +feats of jugglery, balancing it on the palms of their hands or upon +their teeth, to the rhythm of the drums. + +The wealthy masters had the honor of holding the cords of the banner, +and behind them marched the lion, the glorious lion of the guild, who +was now no longer known. Nor did the lion march in careless fashion; he +was dignified, as the old traditions bade him be, and as Senor Vicente +had seen his father march, and as the latter had seen his grandfather; +he kept time with the drums, bowing at every step, to right and to left, +moving the Shrine fan-wise, like a polite and well-bred beast who knows +the respect due to the public. + +The farmers who had come to the celebration opened their eyes in +amazement; the mothers pointed him out with their fingers so that the +children might see him; but the youngsters, frowning, tightened their +grasp upon their mothers' necks, hiding their faces to shed tears of +terror. + +When the banner halted, the glorious lion had to defend himself with his +hind paws against the disrespectful swarm of gamins that surrounded him, +trying to tear some locks out of his moth-eaten mane. At other times the +beast looked up at the balconies to salute the pretty girls with the +Shrine; they laughed at the grotesque figure. And Senor Vicente did +wisely; however much of a lion one may be, one must be gallant toward +the fair sex. + +The spectators fanned themselves, trying to find a momentary coolness in +the burning atmosphere; the _horchateros_[A] bustled among the crowds +shouting their wares, called from all directions at once and not knowing +whither to go first; the standard-bearers and the drummers wiped the +sweat off their faces at every restaurant door, and at last went inside +to seek refreshment. + +[A] Vendors of "horchata," iced orgeat. + +But the lion stuck to his post. His mask became soft; he walked with a +certain weariness, letting the Shrine rest upon his stomach, having by +this time lost all desire to bow to the public. + +Fellow tanners approached him with jesting questions. + +"How are things going, _so Visent_?" + +And _so Visent_ roared indignantly from the interior of his cardboard +disguise. How should things go? Very well. He was able to keep it up, +without failing in his part, even if the parade continued for three +days. As for getting tired, leave that to the young folks. And drawing +himself proudly erect, he resumed his bows, marking time with his +swaying Shrine of wood. + +The procession lasted three hours. When the guild banner returned to the +Cathedral night was beginning to fall. + +Plom! Retoplom! The glorious banner of the _blanquers_ returned to its +guild house behind the drums. The myrtle on the streets had disappeared +beneath the feet of the paraders. Now the ground was covered with drops +of wax, rose leaves and strips of tinsel. The liturgic perfume of +incense floated through the air. Plom! Retoplom! The drums were tired; +the strapping youths who had carried the standards were now panting, +having lost all desire to perform balancing tricks; the rich masters +clutched the cords of the banner tightly as if the latter were towing +them along, and they complained of their new shoes and their bunions; +but the lion, the weary lion (ah, swaggering beast!) who at times seemed +on the point of falling to the ground, still had strength left to rise +on his hind paws and frighten the suburban couples, who pulled at a +string of children that had been dazzled by the sights. + +A lie! Pure conceit! Senor Vicente knew what it felt like to be inside +of the lion's hide. But nobody is obliged to take the part of the lion, +and he who assumes it must stick it out to the bitter end. + +Once home, he sank upon the sofa like a bundle of wool; his sons, +daughters-in-law and grandchildren hastened to remove the mask from his +face. They could scarcely recognize him, so congested and scarlet were +his features, which seemed to spurt water from every line of his +wrinkles. + +They tried to remove his skins; but the beast was oppressed by a +different desire, begging in a suffocated voice. He wished a drink; he +was choking with the heat. The family, warning against illness, +protested in vain. The deuce! He desired a drink right away. And who +would dare resist an infuriated lion?... + +From the nearest cafe they brought him some ice-cream in a blue cup; a +Valencian ice-cream, honey-sweet and grateful to the nostrils, +glistening with drops of white juice at the conical top. + +But what are ice creams to a lion! _Haaam_! He swallowed it at a single +gulp, as if it were a mere trifle! His thirst and the heat assailed him +anew, and he roared for other refreshment. + +The family, for reasons of economy, thought of the _horchata_ from a +near-by restaurant. They would see; let a full jar of it be brought. And +Senor Vicente drank and drank until it was unnecessary to remove the +skins from him. Why? Because an attack of double pneumonia finished him +inside of a few hours. The glorious, shaggy-haired _uniform_ of the +family served him as a shroud. + +Thus died the lion of the _blanquers_,--the last lion of Valencia. + +And the fact is that _horchata_ is fatal for beasts.... Pure poison! + + + + +THE TOAD + + +"I was spending the summer at Nazaret," said my friend Orduna, "a little +fishermen's town near Valencia. The women went to the city to sell the +fish, the men sailed about in their boats with triangular sails, or +tugged at their nets on the beach; we summer vacationists spent the day +sleeping and the night at the doors of our houses, contemplating the +phosphorescence of the waves or slapping ourselves here and there +whenever we heard the buzz of a mosquito,--that scourge of our resting +hours. + +"The doctor, a hardy and genial old fellow, would come and sit down +under the bower before my door, and we'd spend the night together, with +a jar or a watermelon at our side, speaking of his patients, folks of +land or sea, credulous, rough and insolent in their manners, given over +to fishing or to the cultivation of their fields. At times we laughed as +he recalled the illness of Visanteta, the daughter of _la Soberana_, an +old fishmonger who justified her nickname of _the Queen_ by her bulk and +her stature, as well as by the arrogance with which she treated her +market companions, imposing her will upon them by right of might.... The +belle of the place was this Visanteta: tiny, malicious, with a clever +tongue, and no other good looks than that of youthful health; but she +had a pair of penetrating eyes and a trick of pretending timidity, +weakness, and interest, which simply turned the heads of the village +youths. Her sweetheart was _Carafosca_, a brave fisherman who was +capable of sailing on a stick of wood. On the sea he was admired by all +for his audacity; on land he filled everybody with fear by his provoking +silence and the facility with which he whipped out his aggressive +sailor's knife. Ugly, burly, and always ready for a fight, like the huge +creatures that from time to time showed up in the waters of Nazaret +devouring all the fish, he would walk to church on Sunday afternoons at +his sweetheart's side, and every time the maiden raised her head to +speak to him, amidst the simple talk and lisping of a delicate, pampered +child, _Carafosca_ would cast a challenging look about him with his +squinting eyes, as if defying all the folk of the fields, the beach, and +the sea to take his Visanteta away from him. + +"One day the most astounding news was bruited about Nazaret. The +daughter of la _Soberana_ had an animal inside of her. Her abdomen was +swelling; the slow deformation revealed itself through her under-skirts +and her dress; her face lost color, and the fact that she had swooned +several times, vomiting painfully, upset the entire cabin and caused her +mother to burst into desperate lamentations and to run in terror for +help. Many of her neighbors smiled when they heard of this illness. Let +them tell it to _Carafosca_!... But the incredulous ones ceased their +malicious talk and their suspicions when they saw how sad and desperate +_Carafosca_ became at his sweetheart's illness, praying for her recovery +with all the fervor of a simple soul, even going so far as to enter the +little village church,--he, who had always been a pagan, a blasphemer +of God and the saints. + +"Yes, it was a strange and horrible sickness. The people, in their +predisposition to believe in all sorts of extraordinary and rare +afflictions, were certain that they knew what this was. Visanteta had a +toad in her stomach. She had drunk from a certain spot of the near-by +river, and the wicked animal, small and almost unnoticeable, had gone +down into her stomach, growing fast. The good neighbors, trembling with +stupefaction, flocked to _la Soberana's_ cabin to examine the girl. All, +with a certain solemnity, felt the swelling abdomen, seeking in its +tightened surface the outlines of the hidden creature. Some of them, +older and more experienced than the rest, laughed with a triumphant +expression. There it was, right under their hand. They could feel it +stirring, moving about.... Yes, it was moving! And after grave +deliberation, they agreed upon remedies to expel the unwelcome guest. +They gave the girl spoonfuls of rosemary honey, so that the wicked +creature inside should start to eat it gluttonously, and when he was +most preoccupied in his joyous meal, whiz!--an inundation of onion juice +and vinegar that would bring him out at full gallop. At the same time +they applied to her stomach miraculous plasters, so that the toad, left +without a moment's rest, should escape in terror; there were rags soaked +in brandy and saturated with incense; tangles of hemp dipped in the +calking of the ships; mountain herbs; simple bits of paper with numbers, +crosses and Solomon's seal upon them, sold by the miracle-worker of the +city. Visanteta thought that all these remedies that were being thrust +down her throat would be the death of her. She shuddered with the +chills of nausea, she writhed in horrible contortions as if she were +about to expel her very entrails, but the odious toad did not deign to +show even one of his legs, and _la Soberana_ cried to heaven. Ah, her +daughter!... Those remedies would never succeed in casting out the +wretched animal: it was better to let it alone, and not torture the poor +girl; rather give it a great deal to eat, so that it wouldn't feed upon +the strength of Visanteta who was growing paler and weaker every day. + +"And as _la Soberana_ was poor, all her friends, moved by the +compassionate solidarity of the common people, devoted themselves to the +feeding of Visanteta so that the toad should do her no harm. The +fisherwomen, upon returning from the square brought her cakes that were +purchased in city establishments, that only the upper class patronized; +on the beach, when the catch was sorted, they laid aside for her a +dainty morsel that would serve for a succulent soup; the neighbors, who +happened to be cooking in their pots over the fire would take out a +cupful of the best of the broth, carrying it slowly so that it shouldn't +spill, and bring it to _la Soberana's_ cabin; cups of chocolate arrived +one after the other every afternoon. + +"Visanteta rebelled against this excessive kindness. She couldn't +swallow another drop! She was full! But her mother stuck out her hairy +nose with an imperious expression. I tell you to eat! She must remember +what she had inside of her.... And she began to feel a faint, +indefinable affection for that mysterious creature, lodged in the +entrails of her daughter. She pictured it to herself; she could see it; +it was her pride. Thanks to it, the whole town had its eyes upon the +cabin and the trail of visitors was unending, and _la Soberana_ never +passed a woman on her way without being stopped and asked for news. + +"Only once had they summoned the doctor, seeing him pass by the door; +but not that they really wished him, or had any faith in him. What could +that helpless man do against such a tenacious animal!... And upon +hearing that, not content with the explanations of the mother and the +daughter and his own audacious tapping around her clothes, he +recommended an internal examination, the proud mother almost showed him +the door. The impudent wretch! Not in a hurry was he going to have the +pleasure of seeing her daughter so intimately! The poor thing, so good +and so modest, who blushed merely at the thought of such proposals!... + +"On Sunday afternoons Visanteta went to church, figuring at the head of +the daughters of Mary. Her voluminous abdomen was eyed with admiration +by the girls. They all asked breathlessly after the toad, and Visanteta +replied wearily. It didn't bother her so much now. It had grown very +much because she ate so well; sometimes it moved about, but it didn't +hurt as it used to. One after the other the maidens would place their +hands upon the afflicted one and feel the movements of the invisible +creature, admiring as they did so the superiority of their friend. The +curate, a blessed chap of pious simplicity, pretended not to notice the +feminine curiosity, and thought with awe of the things done by God to +put His creatures to the test. Afterwards, when the afternoon drew to a +close, and the choir sang in gentle voice the praises of Our Lady of the +Sea, each of the virgins would fall to thinking of that mysterious +beast, praying fervently that poor Visanteta be delivered of it as soon +as possible. + +"_Carafosca_, too, enjoyed a certain notoriety because of his +sweetheart's affliction. The women accosted him, the old fishermen +stopped him to inquire about the animal that was torturing the girl. +'The poor thing! The poor thing!' he would groan, in accents of amorous +commiseration. He said no more; but his eyes revealed a vehement desire +to take over as soon as possible Visanteta and her toad, since the +latter inspired a certain affection in him because of its connection +with her. + +"One night, when the doctor was at my door, a woman came in search of +him, panting with dramatic horror. _La Soberana's_ daughter was very +sick; he must run to her rescue. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, +yes! The toad!' And he didn't seem at all anxious to stir. Then came +another woman, more agitated than the first. Poor Visanteta! She was +dying! Her shrieks could be heard all over the street. The wicked beast +was devouring her entrails.... + +"I followed the doctor, attracted by the curiosity that had the whole +town in a commotion. When we came to _la Soberana's_ cabin we had to +force our way through a compact group of women who obstructed the +doorway, crowding into the house. A rending shriek, a rasping wail came +from the innermost part of the dwelling, rising above the heads of the +curious or terrified women. The hoarse voice of _la Soberana_ answered +with entreating accents. Her daughter! Ah, Lord, her poor daughter.... + +"The arrival of the physician was received by a chorus of demands on the +part of the old women. Poor Visanteta was writhing furiously, unable to +bear such pain; her eyes bulged from their sockets and her features were +distorted. She must be operated upon; her entrails must be opened and +the green, slippery demon that was eating her alive must be expelled. + +"The doctor proceeded upon his task, without paying any attention to the +advice showered upon him, and before I could reach his side his voice +resounded through the sudden silence, with ill-humored brusqueness: + +"'But good Lord, the only trouble with this girl is that she's going to +...!' + +"Before he could finish, all could guess from the harshness of his voice +what he was about to say. The group of women yielded before _la +Soberana's_ thrusts even as the waves of the sea under the belly of a +whale. She stuck out her big hands and her threatening nails, mumbling +insults and looking at the doctor with murder in her eyes. Bandit! +Drunkard! Out of her house!... It was the people's fault, for supporting +such an infidel. She'd eat him up! Let them make way for her!... And she +struggled violently with her friends, fighting to free herself and +scratch out the doctor's eyes. To her vindictive cries were joined the +weak bleating of Visanteta, protesting with the breath that was left her +between her groans of pain. It was a lie! Let that wicked man be gone! +What a nasty mouth he had! It was all a lie!... + +"But the doctor went hither and thither, asking for water, for bandages, +snappy and imperious in his commands, paying no attention whatsoever to +the threats of the mother or the cries of the daughter, which were +becoming louder and more heart-rending than ever. Suddenly she roared +as if she were being slaughtered, and there was a bustle of curiosity +around the physician, whom I couldn't see. 'It's a lie! A lie! +Evil-tongued wretch! Slanderer!'... But the protestations of Visanteta +were no longer unaccompanied. To her voice of an innocent victim begging +justice from heaven was added the cry of a pair of lungs that were +breathing the air for the first time. + +"And now the friends of _la Soberana_ had to restrain her from falling +upon her daughter. She would kill her! The bitch! Whose child was +that?... And terrified by the threats of her mother, the sick woman, who +was still sobbing 'It's a lie! A lie!' at last spoke. It was a young +fellow of the _huerta_ whom she had never seen again ... an indiscretion +committed one evening.... She no longer remembered. No, she could not +remember!... And she insisted upon this forgetfulness as if it were an +incontrovertible excuse. + +"The people now saw through it all. The women were impatient to spread +the news. As we left, _la Soberana_, humiliated and in tears, tried to +kneel before the doctor and kiss his hand. 'Ay, Don Antoni!... Don +Antoni!' She asked pardon for her insults; she despaired when she +thought of the village comments. What they would have to suffer now!... +On the following day the youths that sang as they arranged their nets +would invent new verses. The song of the toad! Her life would become +impossible!... But even more than this, the thought of _Carafosca_ +terrified her. She knew very well what sort of brute that was. He would +kill poor Visanteta the first time she appeared on the street; and she +herself would meet the same fate for being her mother and not having +guarded her well. 'Ay, Don Antoni!' She begged him, upon her knees, to +see _Carafosca_. He, who was so good and who knew so much, could +convince the fellow with his reasoning, and make him swear that he would +not do the women any harm,--that he would forget them. + +"The doctor received these entreaties with the same indifference as he +had received the threats, and he answered sharply. He would see about +it; it was a delicate affair. But once in the street, he shrugged his +shoulders with resignation. 'Let's go and see that animal.' + +"We pulled him out of the tavern and the three of us began to walk along +the beach through the darkness. The fisherman seemed to be awed at +finding himself between two persons of such importance. Don Antonio +spoke to him of the indisputable superiority of men ever since the +earliest days of creation; of the scorn with which women should be +regarded because of their lack of seriousness; of their immense number +and the ease with which we could pick another if the one we had happened +to displease us ... and at last, with brutal directness, told what had +happened. + +"_Carafosca_ hesitated, as if he had not understood the doctor's words +very well. Little by little the certainty dawned upon his dense +comprehension. 'By God! By God!' And he scratched himself fearfully +under his cap, and brought his hands to his sash as if he were seeking +his redoubtable knife. + +"The physician tried to console him. He must forget Visanteta; there +would be no sense or advantage in killing her. It wasn't worth while for +a splendid chap like him to go to prison for slaying a worthless +creature like her. The real culprit was that unknown laborer; but ... +and she! And how easily she ... committed the indiscretion, not being +able to recall anything afterwards!... + +"For a long time we walked along in painful silence, with no other +novelty than _Carafosca's_ scratching of his head and his sash. Suddenly +he surprised us with the roar of his voice, speaking to us in Castilian, +thus adding solemnity to what he said: + +"'Do you want me to tell you something?... Do you want me to tell you +something?' + +"He looked at us with hostile eyes, as if he saw before him the unknown +culprit of the _huerta_, ready to pounce upon him. It could be seen that +his sluggish brain had just adopted a very firm resolution.... What was +it? Let him speak. + +"'Well, then,' he articulated slowly, as if we were enemies whom he +desired to confound, 'I tell you ... that now I love the girl more than +ever.' + +"In our stupefaction, at a loss for reply, we shook hands with him." + + + + +COMPASSION + + +At ten o'clock in the evening Count de Sagreda walked into his club on +the Boulevard des Capucins. There was a bustle among the servants to +relieve him of his cane, his highly polished hat and his costly fur +coat, which, as it left his shoulders revealed a shirt bosom of +immaculate neatness, a gardenia in his lapel, and all the attire of +black and white, dignified yet brilliant, that belongs to a gentleman +who has just dined. + +The story of his ruin was known by every member of the club. His +fortune, which fifteen years before had caused a certain commotion in +Paris, having been ostentatiously cast to the four winds, was exhausted. +The count was now living on the remains of his opulence, like those +shipwrecked seamen who live upon the debris of the vessel, postponing in +anguish the arrival of the last hour. The very servants who danced +attendance upon him like slaves in dress suits, knew of his misfortune +and discussed his shameful plight; but not even the slightest suggestion +of insolence disturbed the colorless glance of their eyes, petrified by +servitude. He was such a nobleman! He had scattered his money with such +majesty!... Besides, he was a genuine member of the nobility, a nobility +that dated back for centuries and whose musty odor inspired a certain +ceremonious gravity in many of the citizens whose forebears had helped +bring about the Revolution. He was not one of those Polish counts who +permit themselves to be entertained by women, nor an Italian marquis who +winds up by cheating at cards, nor a Russian personage of consequence +who often draws his pay from the police; he was genuine _hidalgo_, a +grandee of Spain. Perhaps one of his ancestors figured in the _Cid_, in +_Ruy Blas_ or some other of the heroic pieces in the repertory of the +Comedie Francaise. + +The count entered the salons of the club with head erect and a proud +gait, greeting his friends with a barely discernible smile, a mixture of +hauteur and light-heartedness. + +He was approaching his fortieth year, but he was still the _beau_ +Sagreda, as he had long been nicknamed by the noctambulous women of +Maxim's and the early-rising Amazons of the Bois. A few gray hairs at +his temples and a triangle of faint wrinkles at the corner of his brows, +betrayed the effects of an existence that had been lived at too rapid a +pace, with the vital machinery running at full speed. But his eyes were +still youthful, intense and melancholy; eyes that caused him to be +called "the Moor" by his men and women friends. The Viscounte de la +Tresminiere, crowned by the Academy as the author of a study on one of +his ancestors who had been a companion of Conde, and highly appreciated +by the antique dealers on the left bank of the Seine, who sold him all +the bad canvases they had in store, called him _Velazquez_, satisfied +that the swarthy, somewhat olive complexion of the count, his black, +heavy mustache and his grave eyes, gave him the right to display his +thorough acquaintance with Spanish art. + +All the members of the club spoke of Sagreda's ruin with discreet +compassion. The poor count! Not to fall heir to some new legacy. Not to +meet some American millionairess who would be smitten with him and his +titles!... They must do something to save him. + +And he walked amid this mute and smiling pity without being at all aware +of it, encased in his pride, receiving as admiration that which was +really compassionate sympathy, forced to have recourse to painful +simulations in order to surround himself with as much luxury as before, +thinking that he was deceiving others and deceiving only himself. + +Sagreda cherished no illusions as to the future. All the relatives that +might come to his rescue with a timely legacy had done so many years +before, upon making their exit from the world's stage. None that might +recall his name was left beyond the mountains. In Spain he had only some +distant relatives, personages of the nobility united to him more by +historic bonds than by ties of blood. They addressed him familiarly, but +he could expect from them no help other than good advice and admonitions +against his wild extravagance.... It was all over. Fifteen years of +dazzling display had consumed the supply of wealth with which Sagreda +one day arrived in Paris. The granges of Andalusia, with their droves of +cattle and horses, had changed hands without ever having made the +acquaintance of this owner, devoted to luxury and always absent. After +them, the vast wheat fields of Castilla and the rice fields of Valencia, +and the villages of the northern provinces, had gone into strange +hands,--all the princely possessions of the ancient counts of Sagreda, +plus the inheritances from various pious aunts, and the considerable +legacies of other relatives who had died of old age in their ancient +country houses. + +Paris and the elegant summer seasons had in a few years devoured this +fortune of centuries. The recollection of a few noisy love affairs with +two actresses in vogue; the nostalgic smile of a dozen costly women of +the world; the forgotten fame of several duels; a certain prestige as a +rash, calm gambler, and a reputation as a knightly swordsman, +intransigeant in matters of honor, were all that remained to the _beau_ +Sagreda after his downfall. + +He lived upon his past, contracting new debts with certain providers +who, recalling other financial crises, trusted to a re-establishment of +his fortune. "His fate was settled," according to the count's own words. +When he could do no more, he would resort to a final course. Kill +himself?... never. Men like him committed suicide only because of +gambling debts or debts of honor. Ancestors of his, noble and glorious, +had owed huge sums to persons who were not their equals, without for a +moment considering suicide on this account. When the creditors should +shut their doors to him, and the money-lenders should threaten him with +a public court scandal, Count de Sagreda, making a heroic effort, would +wrench himself away from the sweet Parisian life. His ancestors had been +soldiers and colonizers. He would join the foreign legion of Algeria, or +would take passage for that America which had been conquered by his +forefathers, becoming a mounted shepherd in the solitudes of Southern +Chile or upon the boundless plains of Patagonia. + +Until the dreaded moment should arrive, this hazardous, cruel existence +that forced him to live a continuous lie, was the best period of his +career. From his last trip to Spain, made for the purpose of liquidating +certain remnants of his patrimony, he had returned with a woman, a +maiden of the provinces who had been captivated by the prestige of the +nobleman; in her affection, ardent and submissive at the same time, +there was almost as much admiration as love. A woman!... Sagreda for the +first time realized the full significance of this word, as if up to then +he had not understood it. His present companion was a woman; the +nervous, dissatisfied females who had filled his previous existence, +with their painted smiles and voluptuous artifices, belonged to another +species. + +And now that the real woman had arrived, his money was departing +forever!... And when misfortune appeared, love came with it!... Sagreda, +lamenting his lost fortune, struggled hard to maintain his outward +pompous show. He lived as before, in the same house, without retrenching +his budget, making his companion presents of value equal to those that +he had lavished upon his former women friends, enjoying an almost +paternal satisfaction before the childish surprise and the ingenuous +happiness of the poor girl, who was overwhelmed by the brilliant life of +Paris. + +Sagreda was drowning,--drowning!--but with a smile on his lips, content +with himself, with his present life, with this sweet dream, which was to +be the final one and which was lasting miraculously long. Fate, which +had maltreated him in the past few years, consuming the remainders of +his wealth at Monte Carlo, at Ostend and in the notable clubs of the +Boulevard, seemed now to stretch out a helping hand, touched by his new +existence. Every night, after dining with his companion at a fashionable +restaurant, he would leave her at the theatre and go to his club, the +only place where luck awaited him. He did not plunge heavily. Simple +games of ecarte with intimate friends, chums of his youth, who continued +their happy career with the aid of great fortunes, or who had settled +down after marrying wealth, retaining among their former habits the +custom of visiting the honorable circle. + +Scarcely did the count take his seat, with his cards in his hand, +opposite one of these friends, when Fortune seemed to hover over his +head, and his friends did not tire of playing, inviting him to a game +every night, as if they stood awaiting their turn. His winnings were +hardly enough to grow wealthy upon; some nights ten _louis_; others +twenty-five; on special occasions Sagreda would retire with as many as +forty gold coins in his pocket. But thanks to this almost daily gain he +was able to fill the gaps of his lordly existence, which threatened to +topple down upon his head, and he maintained his lady companion in +surroundings of loving comfort, at the same time recovering confidence +in his immediate future. Who could tell what was in store for him?... + +Noticing Viscount de la Tresminiere in one of the salons he smiled at +him with an expression of friendly challenge. + +"What do you say to a game?" + +"As you wish, my dear _Velazquez_." + +"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me." + +"Seven francs per five points will be sufficient. I'm sure to win. Luck +is with me." + +The game commenced under the soft light of the electric bulbs, amid the +soothing silence of soft carpets and thick curtains. + +Sagreda kept winning, as if his kind fate was pleased to extricate him +from the most difficult passes. He won without half trying. It made no +difference that he lacked trumps and that he held bad cards; those of +his rival were always worse, and the result would be miraculously in +harmony with his previous games. + +Already, twenty-five golden _louis_ lay before him. A club companion, +who was wandering from one salon to the other with a bored expression, +stopped near the players interested in the game. At first he remained +standing near Sagreda; then he took up his position behind the viscount, +who seemed to be rendered nervous and perturbed at the fellow's +proximity. + +"But that's awfully silly of you!" the inquisitive newcomer soon +exclaimed. "You're not playing a good game, my dear viscount. You're +laying aside your trumps and using only your bad cards. How stupid of +you!" + +He could say no more. Sagreda threw his cards upon the table. He had +grown terribly white, with a greenish pallor. His eyes, opened +extraordinarily wide, stared at the viscount. Then he rose. + +"I understand," he said coldly. "Allow me to withdraw." + +Then, with a quivering hand, he thrust the heap of gold coins toward his +friend. + +"This belongs to you." + +"But, my dear _Velasquez_.... Why, Sagreda!... Permit me to explain, +dear count!..." + +"Enough, sir. I repeat that I understand." + +His eyes flashed with a strange gleam, the selfsame gleam that his +friends had seen upon various occasions, when after a brief dispute or +an insulting word, he raised his glove in a gesture of challenge. + +But this hostile glance lasted only a moment. Then he smiled with +glacial affability. + +"Many thanks, Viscount. These are favors that are never forgotten.... I +repeat my gratitude." + +And he saluted, like a true noble, walking off proudly erect, the same +as in the most smiling days of his opulence. + + * * * * * + +With his fur coat open, displaying his immaculate shirt bosom, Count de +Sagreda promenades along the boulevard. The crowds are issuing from the +theatres; the women are crossing from one sidewalk to the other; +automobiles with lighted interiors roll by, affording a momentary +glimpse of plumes, jewels and white bosoms; the news-vendors shout their +wares; at the top of the buildings huge electrical advertisements blaze +forth and go out in rapid succession. + +The Spanish grandee, the _hidalgo_, the descendant of the noble knights +of the _Cid_ and _Ruy Blas_, walks against the current, elbowing his way +through the crowd, desiring to hasten as fast as possible, without any +particular objective in view. + +To contract debts!... Very well. Debts do not dishonor a nobleman. But +to receive alms?... seeing his friends desert him, of descending to the +lowest depths, being lost in the social substratum. But to arouse +compassion.... + +The comedy was useless. The intimate friends who smiled at him in former +times had penetrated the secret of his poverty and had been moved by +pity to get together and take turns at giving him alms under the pretext +of gambling with him. And likewise his other friends, and even the +servants who bowed to him with their accustomed respect as he passed by, +were in the secret. And he, the poor dope, was going about with his +lordly airs, stiff and solemn in his extinct grandeur, like the corpse +of the legendary chieftain, which, after his death, was mounted on +horseback and sallied forth to win battles. + +Farewell, Count de Sagreda! The heir of governors and viceroys can +become a nameless soldier in a legion of desperadoes and bandits; he can +begin life anew as an adventurer in virgin lands, killing that he may +live; he can even watch with impassive countenance the wreck of his name +and his family history, before the bench of a tribunal.... But to live +upon the compassion of his friends!... + +Farewell forever, final illusions! The count has forgotten his +companion, who is waiting for him at a night restaurant. He does not +think of her; it is as if he never had seen her; as if she had never +existed. He thinks not at all of that which but a few hours before had +made life worth living. He walks along, alone with his disgrace, and +each step of his seems to draw from the earth a dead thing; an ancestral +influence, a racial prejudice, a family boast, dormant hauteur, honor +and fierce pride, and as these awake, they oppress his breast and cloud +his thoughts. + +How they must have laughed at him behind his back, with condescending +pity!... Now he walks along more hurriedly than ever, as if he has at +last made up his mind just where he is going, and his emotion leads him +unconsciously to murmur with irony, as if he is speaking to somebody who +is at his heels and whom he desires to flee. + +"Many thanks! Many thanks!" + +Just before dawn two revolver shots astound the guests of a hotel in the +vicinity of the _Gare Saint-Lazare_,--one of those ambiguous +establishments that offers a safe shelter for amorous acquaintances +begun on the thoroughfare. + +The attendants find in one of the rooms a gentleman dressed in evening +clothes, with a hole in his head, through which escape bloody strips of +flesh. The man writhes like a worm upon the threadbare carpet. + +His eyes, of a dull black, still glitter with life. There is nothing +left in them of the image of his sweet companion. His last thought, +interrupted by death, is of friendship, terrible in its pity; of the +fraternal insult of a generous, light-hearted compassion. + + + + +THE WINDFALL + + +"I, sir," said _Magdalena_, the bugler of the prison, "am no saint; I've +been jailed many times for robberies; some of them that really took +place and others that I was simply suspected of. Compared to you, who +are a gentleman, and are in prison for having written things in the +papers, I'm a mere wretch.... But take my word for it, this time I'm +here for good." + +And raising one hand to his breast as he straightened his head with a +certain pride, he added, "Petty thefts, that's all.... I'm not brave; I +haven't shed a drop of blood." + +At break of day, _Magdalena's_ bugle resounded through the spacious +yard, embroidering its reveille with scales and trills. During the day, +with the martial instrument hanging from his neck, or caressing it with +a corner of his smock so as to wipe off the vapor with which the +dampness of the prison covered it, he would go through the entire +edifice,--an ancient convent in whose refectories, granaries, and +garrets there were crowded, in perspiring confusion, almost a thousand +men. + +He was the clock that governed the life and the activities of this mass +of male flesh perpetually seething with hatred. He made the round of the +cells to announce, with sonorous blasts, the arrival of the worthy +director, or a visit from the authorities; from the progress of the sun +along the white walls of the prison-yard he could tell the approach of +the visiting hours,--the best part of the day,--and with his tongue +stuck between his lips he would await orders impatiently, ready to burst +into the joyous signal that sent the flock of prisoners scampering over +the stairways in an anxious run toward the locutories, where a wretched +crowd of women and children buzzed in conversation; his insatiable +hunger kept him pacing back and forth in the vicinity of the old +kitchen, in which the enormous stews filled the atmosphere with a +nauseating odor, and he bemoaned the indifference of the chef, who was +always late in giving the order for the mess-call. + +Those imprisoned for crimes of blood, heroes of the dagger who had +killed their man in a fierce brawl or in a dispute over a woman and who +formed an aristocracy that disdained the petty thieves, looked upon the +bugler as the butt for pranks with which to while away their boredom. + +"Blow!" would come the command from some formidable fellow, proud of his +crimes and his courage. + +And _Magdalena_ would draw himself up with military rigidity, close his +mouth and inflate his cheeks, momentarily expecting two blows, delivered +simultaneously by both hands, to expel the air from the ruddy globe of +his face. At other times these redoubtable personages tested the +strength of their arms upon _Magdalena's_ pate, which was bare with the +baldness of repugnant diseases, and they would howl with laughter at the +damage done to their fists by the protuberances of the hard skull. The +bugler lent himself to these tortures with the humility of a whipped +dog, and found a certain revenge in repeating, afterwards, those words +that were a solace to him: + +"I'm good; I'm not a brave fellow. Petty thefts, that's all.... But as +to blood, not a single drop." + +Visiting time brought his wife, the notorious _Peluchona_, a valiant +creature who inspired him with great fear. She was the mistress of one +of the most dangerous bandits in the jail. Daily she brought that fellow +food, procuring these dainties at the cost of all manner of vile labors. +The bugler, upon beholding her, would leave the lucutory, fearing the +arrogance of her bandit mate, who would take advantage of the occasion +to humiliate him before his former companion. Many times a certain +feeling of curiosity and tenderness got the better of his fear, and he +would advance timidly, looking beyond the thick bars for the head of a +child that came with _la Peluchona_. + +"That's my son, sir," he said humbly. "My Tonico, who no longer knows me +or remembers me. They say that he doesn't resemble me at all. Perhaps +he's not mine.... You can imagine, with the life his mother has always +led, living near the garrisons, washing the soldiers' clothes!... But he +was born in my home; I held him in my arms when he was ill, and that's a +bond as close as ties of blood." + +Then he would resume his timid lurking about the locutory, as if +preparing one of his robberies, to see his Tonico; and when he could see +him for a moment, the sight was enough to extinguish his helpless rage +before the full basket of lunch that the evil woman brought to her +lover. + +_Magdalena's_ whole existence was summed up in two facts; he had robbed +and he had travelled much. The robberies were insignificant; clothes or +money snatched in the street, because he lacked courage for greater +deeds. His travels had been compulsory,--always on foot, over the roads +of Spain, marching in a chain gang of convicts, between the polished or +white three-cornered hats that guarded the prisoners. + +After having been a "pupil" among the buglers of a regiment, he had +launched upon his life of continuous imprisonment, punctuated by brief +periods of freedom, in which he lost his bearings, not knowing what to +do with himself and wishing to return as soon as possible to jail. It +was the perpetual chain, but finished link by link, as he used to say. + +The police never organized a round-up of dangerous persons but what +_Magdalena_ was found among them,--a timorous rat whose name the papers +mentioned like that of a terrible criminal. He was always included in +the trail of vagrant suspects who, without being charged with any +specific crime, were sent from province to province by the authorities, +in the hope that they would die of hunger along the roads, and thus he +had covered the whole peninsula on foot, from Cadiz to Santander, from +Valencia to La Coruna. With what enthusiasm he recalled his travels! He +spoke of them as if they were joyous excursions, just like a wandering +charity-student of the old _Tuna_ converting his tales into courses in +picturesque geography. With hungry delight he recollected the abundant +milk of Galicia, the red sausages of Extramadura, the Castilian bread, +the Basque apples, the wines and ciders of all the districts he had +traversed, with his luggage on his shoulder. Guards were changed every +day,--some of them kind or indifferent, others ill-humored and cruel, +who made all the prisoners fear a couple of shots fired beyond the ruts +of the road, followed by the papers justifying the killing as having +been caused by an attempt at flight. With a certain nostalgia he evoked +the memory of mountains covered with snow or reddened and striped by the +sun; the slow procession along the white road that was lost in the +horizon, like an endless ribbon; the highlands, under the trees, in the +hot noon hours; the storms that assailed them upon the highways; +inundated ravines that forced them to camp out in the open; the arrival, +late at night, at certain town prisons, old convents or abandoned +churches, in which every man hunted up a dry corner, protected from +draughts, where he could stretch his mat; the endless journey with all +the long halts in spots where life was so monotonous that the presence +of a group of prisoners was an event; the urchins would come running up +to the bars to speak with them, while the girls, impelled by morbid +curiosity, would approach within a short distance, to hear their songs +and their obscene language. + +"Some mighty interesting travels, sir," continued the robber. "For those +of us who had good health and didn't drop by the roadside it was the +same as a strolling band of students. Now and then a drubbing, but who +pays any attention to such things!... They don't have these +_conductions_ now; prisoners are transported by railroad, caged up in +the cars. Besides I am held for a criminal offense, and I must live +inside the walls ... jailed for good." + +And again he began to lament his bad luck, relating the final deed that +had landed him in jail. + +It was a suffocating Sunday in July; an afternoon in which the streets +of Valencia seemed to be deserted, under the burning sun and a wind like +a furnace blast that came from the baked plains of the interior. +Everybody was at the bull-fight or at the sea-shore. _Magdalena_ was +approached by his friend _Chamorra_, an old prison traveling companion, +who exercised a certain influence over him. That _Chamorra_ was a bad +soul! A thief, but of the sort that go the limit, not recoiling before +the necessity of shedding blood and with his knife always handy beside +his skeleton-keys. It was a matter of cleaning out a certain house, upon +which this fearful fellow had set his eye. _Magdalena_ modestly excused +himself. He wasn't made for such things; he couldn't go so far. As for +gliding up to a roof and pulling down the clothes that had been hung out +to dry, or snatching a woman's purse with a quick pull and making off +with it ... all right. But to break into a house, and face the mystery +of a dwelling, in which the people might be at home?... + +But _Chamorra's_ threatening look inspired him with greater fear than +did the anticipation of such an encounter, and he finally consented. +Very well; he would go as an assistant,--to carry the spoils, but ready +to flee at the slightest alarm. And he refused to accept an old +jack-knife that his companion offered him. He was consistent. + +"Petty thefts aplenty; but as to blood, not a single drop." + +Late in the afternoon they entered the narrow vestibule of a house that +had no janitor, and whose inhabitants were all away. _Chamorra_ knew his +victim; a comfortably fixed artisan who must have a neat little pile +saved up. He was surely at the beach with his wife or at the bull-fight. +Above, the door of the apartment yielded easily, and the two companions +began to work in the gloom of the shuttered windows. + +_Chamorra_ forced the locks of two chiffoniers and a closet. There was +silver coin, copper coin, several bank-notes rolled up at the bottom of +a fan-case, the wedding-jewelry, a clock. Not a bad haul. His anxious +looks wandered over the place, seeking to make off with everything that +could be carried. He lamented the uselessness of _Magdalena_, who, +restless with fear and with his arms hanging limp at his sides, was +pacing to and fro without knowing what to do. + +"Take the quilts," ordered _Chamorra_, "we're sure to get something for +the wool." And _Magdalena_, eager to finish the job as soon as possible, +penetrated into the dark alcove, gropingly passing a rope underneath the +quilts and the bed-sheets. Then, aided by his friend, he hurriedly made +a bundle of everything, casting the voluminous burden upon his +shoulders. + +They left without being detected, and walked off in the direction of the +outskirts of the town, toward a shanty of Arrancapinos, where _Chamorra_ +had his haunt. The latter walked ahead, ready to run at the first sign +of danger; _Magdalena_ followed, trotting along, almost hidden beneath +the tremendous load, fearing to feel at any moment the hand of the +police upon his neck. + +Upon examining the proceeds of the robbery in the remote corral, +_Chamorra_ exhibited the arrogance of a lion, granting his accomplice a +few copper coins. This must be enough for the moment. He did this for +_Magdalena's_ own good, as _Magdalena_ was such a spendthrift. Later he +would give more. + +Then they untied the bundle of quilts, and _Chamorra_ bent over, his +hands on his hips, exploding with laughter. What a find!... What a +present! + +_Magdalena_ likewise burst into guffaws, for the first time that +afternoon. Upon the bed-clothes lay an infant, dressed only in a little +shirt, its eyes shut and its face purple from suffocation, but moving +its chest with difficulty at feeling the first caress of fresh air. +_Magdalena_ recalled the vague sensation he had experienced during his +journey hither,--that of something alive moving inside the thick load on +his back. A weak, suffocated whining pursued him in his flight.... The +mother had left the little one asleep in the cool darkness of the +alcove, and they, without knowing it, had carried it off together with +the bed-clothes. + +_Magdalena's_ frightened eyes now looked questioningly at his companion. +What were they to do with the child?... But that evil soul was laughing +away like a very demon. + +"It's yours; I present it to you.... Eat it with potatoes." + +And he went off with all the spoils. _Magdalena_ was left standing in +doubt, while he cradled the child in his arms. The poor little thing!... +It looked just like his own Tono, when he was ill and leaned his little +head upon his father's bosom, while the parent wept, fearing for the +child's life. The same little soft, pink feet; the same downy flesh, +with skin as soft as silk.... The infant had ceased to cry, looking with +surprised eyes at the robber, who was caressing it like a nurse. + +"Lullaby, my poor little thing! There, there, my little king ... child +Jesus! Look at me. I'm your uncle." + +But _Magdalena_ stopped laughing, thinking of the mother, of her +desperate grief when she would return to the house. The loss of her +little fortune would be her least concern. The child! Where was she to +find her child?... He knew what mothers were like. _Peluchona_ was the +worst of women, yet he had seen even her weep and moan before her little +one in danger. + +He gazed toward the sun, which was beginning to sink in a majestic +summer sunset. There was still time to take the infant back to the house +before its parents would return. And if he should encounter them, he +would lie, saying that he found the infant in the middle of the street; +he would extricate himself as well as he could. Forward; he had never +felt so brave. + +Carrying the infant in his arms he walked at ease through the very +streets over which he had lately hastened with the anxious gait of fear. +He mounted the staircase without encountering anybody. Above, the same +solitude. The door was still open, the bolt forced. Within, the +disordered rooms, the broken furniture, the drawers upon the floor, the +overturned chairs and clothes strewn about, filled him with a sensation +of terror similar to that which assails the assassin who returns to +contemplate the corpse of his victim some time after the crime. + +He gave a last fond kiss to the child and left it upon the bed. + +"Good-bye, my pet!" + +But as he approached the head of the staircase he heard footsteps, and +in the rectangle of light that entered through the open door there +bulked the silhouette of a corpulent man. At the same time there rang +out the shrill shriek of a female voice, trembling with fright: + +"Robbers!... Help!" + +_Magdalena_ tried to escape, opening a passage for himself with his head +lowered, like a cornered rat; but he felt himself seized by a pair of +Cyclopean arms, accustomed to beating iron, and with a mighty thrust he +was sent rolling down the stairs. + +On his face there were still signs of the bruises he had received from +contact with the steps, and from the blows rained upon him by the +infuriated neighbors. + +"In sum, sir. Breaking and entering. I'll get out in heaven knows how +many years.... All for being kind-hearted. To make matters worse, they +don't even give me any consideration, looking upon me as a clever +criminal. Everybody knows that the real thief was _Chamorra_ whom I +haven't seen since.... And they ridicule me for a silly fool." + + + + +LUXURY + + +"I had her on my lap," said my friend Martinez, "and the warm weight of +her healthy body was beginning to tire me. + +"The scene ... same as usual in such places. Mirrors with blemished +surfaces, and names scratched across them, like spiders' webs; sofas of +discolored velvet, with springs that creaked atrociously; the bed +decorated with theatrical hangings, as clean and common as a sidewalk, +and on the walls, pictures of bull-fighters and cheap chromos of angelic +virgins smelling a rose or languorously contemplating a bold hunter. + +"The scenery was that of the favorite cell in the convent of vice; an +elegant room reserved for distinguished patrons; and she was a healthy, +robust creature, who seemed to bring a whiff of the pure mountain air +into the heavy atmosphere of this closed house, saturated with cheap +cologne, rice powder and the vapor from dirty wash-basins. + +"As she spoke to me she stroked the ribbons of her gown with childish +complacency; it was a fine piece of satin, of screaming yellow, somewhat +too tight for her body, a dress which I recalled having seen months +before on the delicate charms of another girl, who had since died, +according to reports, in the hospital. + +"Poor girl! She had become a sight! Her coarse, abundant hair, combed in +Greek fashion, was adorned with glass beads; her cheeks, shiny from the +dew of perspiration, were covered with a thick layer of cosmetic; and as +if to reveal her origin, her arms, which were firm, swarthy and of +masculine proportions, escaped from the ample sleeves of her chorus-girl +costume. + +"As she saw me follow with attentive glance all the details of her +extravagant array, she thought that I was admiring her, and threw her +head back with a petulant expression. + +"And such a simple creature!... She hadn't yet become acquainted with +the customs of the house, and told the truth,--all the truth--to the men +who wished to know her history. They called her Flora; but her real name +was Mari-Pepa. She wasn't the orphan of a colonel or a magistrate, nor +did she concoct the complicated tales of love and adventure that her +companions did, in order to justify their presence in such a place. The +truth; always the truth; she would yet be hanged for her frankness. Her +parents were comfortably situated farmers in a little town of Aragon; +owned their fields, had two mules in the barn, bread, wine, and enough +potatoes for the year round; and at night the best fellows in the place +came one after the other to soften her heart with serenade upon +serenade, trying to carry off her dark, healthy person together with the +four orchards she had inherited from her grandfather. + +"'But what could you expect, my dear fellow?... I couldn't bear those +people. They were too coarse for me. I was born to be a lady. And tell +me, why can't I be? Don't I look as good as any of them?...' + +"And she snuggled her head against my shoulder, like the docile +sweetheart she was,--a slave subjected to all sorts of caprices in +exchange for being clothed handsomely. + +"'Those fellows,' she continued, 'made me sick. I ran off with the +student,--understand?--the son of the town magistrate, and we wandered +about until he deserted me, and I landed here, waiting for something +better to turn up. You see, it's a short tale.... I don't complain of +anything. I'm satisfied.' + +"And to show how happy she was, the unhappy girl rode astride my legs, +thrust her hard fingers through my hair, rumpling it, and sang a tango +in horrible fashion, in her strong, peasant voice. + +"I confess that I was seized with an impulse to speak to her 'in the +name of morality,'--that hypocritical desire we all possess to propagate +virtue when we are sated and desire is dead. + +"She raised her eyes, astonished to see me look so solemn, preaching to +her, like a missionary glorifying chastity with a prostitute on his +knees; her gaze wandered continually from my austere countenance to the +bed close by. Her common sense was baffled before the incongruity +between such virtue and the excesses of a moment before. + +"Suddenly she seemed to understand, and an outburst of laughter swelled +her fleshy neck." + +"'The deuce!... How amusing you are! And with what a face you say all +these things! Just like the priest of my home town ...' + +"No, Pepa, I'm serious. I believe you're a good girl; you don't realize +what you've gone into, and I'm warning you. You've fallen very low, very +low. You're at the bottom. Even within the career of vice, the majority +of women resist and deny the caresses that are required of you in this +house. There is yet time for you to save yourself. Your parents have +enough for you to live on; you didn't come here under the necessity of +poverty. Return to your home, and the past will be forgotten; you can +tell them a lie, invent some sort of tale to justify your flight, and +who knows?... One of the fellows that used to serenade you will marry +you, you'll have children and you'll be a respectable woman. + +"The girl became serious when she saw that I was speaking in earnest. +Little by little she began to slip from my knees until she was on her +feet, eyeing me fixedly, as if she saw before her some strange person +and an invisible wall had arisen between the two. + +"'Go back to my home!' she exclaimed in harsh accents. 'Many thanks. I +know very well what that means. Get up before dawn, work like a slave, +go out in the fields, ruin your hands with callouses. Look, see how my +hands still show them.' + +"And she made me feel the rough lumps that rose on the palms of her +strong hands. + +"'And all this, in exchange for what? For being respectable?... Not a +bit of it! I'm not that crazy. So much for respectability!' + +"And she accompanied these words with some indecent motions that she had +picked up from her companions. + +"Afterwards, humming a tune, she went over to the mirror to survey +herself, and smilingly greeted the reflection of her powdered hair, +covered with false pearls, which shone out of the cracked mirror. She +contracted her lips, which were rouged like those of a clown. + +"Growing more and more firm in my virtuous role, I continued to +sermonize her from my chair, enveloping this hypocritical propaganda in +sonorous words. She was making a bad choice; she must think of the +future. The present could not be worse. What was she? Less than a slave; +a piece of furniture; they exploited her, they robbed her, and +afterwards ... afterwards it would be still worse; the hospital, +repulsive diseases ... + +"But again her harsh laughter interrupted me. + +"'Quit it, boy. Don't bother me.' + +"And planting herself before me she wrapped me in a gaze of infinite +compassion. + +"'Why my dear fellow, how silly you are! Do you imagine that I can go +back to that dog's life, after having tasted this one?... No, sir! I was +born for luxury.' + +"And, with devoted admiration sweeping her glance across the broken +chairs, the faded sofa, and that bed which was a public thoroughfare, +she began to walk up and down, revelling in the rustle of her train as +it dragged across the room, and caressing the folds of that gown which +seemed to preserve the warmth of the other girl's body." + + + + +RABIES + + +From all the countryside the neighbors of the _huerta_ flocked to +_Caldera's_ cabin, entering it with a certain meekness, a mingling of +emotion and fear. + +How was the boy? Was he improving?... Uncle Pascal, surrounded by his +wife, his daughters-in-law and even the most distant relatives, who had +been gathered together by misfortune, received with melancholy +satisfaction this interest of the entire vicinity in the health of his +son. Yes, he was getting better. For two days he had not been attacked +by that horrible _thing_ which set the cabin in commotion. And +_Caldera's_ laconic farmer friends, as well as the women, who were +vociferous in the expression of their emotions, appeared at the +threshold of the room, asking timidly, "How do you feel?" + +The only son of _Caldera_ was in there, sometimes in bed, in obedience +to his mother, who could conceive of no illness without the cup of hot +water and seclusion between the bed-sheets; at other times he sat up, +his jaws supported by his hands, gazing obstinately into the furthermost +corner of the room. His father, wrinkling his shaggy white brows, would +walk about when left alone, or, through force of habit, take a look at +the neighboring fields, but without any desire to bend over and pluck +out any of the weeds that were beginning to sprout in the furrows. Much +this land mattered to him now,--the earth in whose bowels he had left +the sweat of his body and the strength of his limbs!... His son was all +he had,--the fruit of a late marriage,--and he was a sturdy youth, as +industrious and taciturn as his father; a soldier of the soil, who +required neither orders nor threat to fulfil his duties; ready to awake +at midnight when it was his turn to irrigate his land and give the +fields drink under the light of the stars; quick to spring from his bed +on the hard kitchen bench, throwing off the covers and putting on his +hemp sandals at the sound of the early rooster's reveille. + +Uncle Pascal had never smiled. He was the Latin type of father; the +fearful master of the house, who, on returning from his labors, ate +alone, served by his wife, who stood by with an expression of +submission. But this grave, harsh mask of an omnipotent master concealed +a boundless admiration for his son, who was his best work. How quickly +he loaded a cart! How he perspired as he managed the hoe with a vigorous +forward and backward motion that seemed to cleave him at the waist! Who +could ride a pony like him, gracefully jumping on to his back by simply +resting the toe of a sandal upon the hind legs of the animal?... He +didn't touch wine, never got mixed up in a brawl, nor was he afraid of +work. Through good luck he had pulled a high number in the military +draft, and when the feast of San Juan came around he intended to marry a +girl from a near-by farm,--a maiden that would bring with her a few +pieces of earth when she came to the cabin of her new parents. +Happiness; an honorable and peaceful continuation of the family +traditions; another _Caldera_, who, when Uncle Pascal grew old, would +continue to work the lands that had been fructified by his ancestors, +while a troop of little _Calderitas_, increasing in number each year, +would play around the nag harnessed to the plow, eyeing with a certain +awe their grandpa, his eyes watery from age and his words very concise, +as he sat in the sun at the cabin door. + +Christ! And how man's illusions vanish!... One Saturday, as Pascualet +was coming home from his sweetheart's house, along one of the paths of +the _huerta_, about midnight, a dog had bitten him; a wretched, silent +animal that jumped out from behind a sluice; as the young man crouched +to throw a stone at it, the dog bit into his shoulder. His mother, who +used to wait for him on the nights when he went courting, burst into +wailing when she saw the livid semicircle, with its red stain left by +the dog's teeth, and she bustled about the hut preparing poultices and +drinks. + +The youth laughed at his mother's fears. "Quiet, mother, quiet!" It +wasn't the first time that a dog had bitten him. His body still showed +faint signs of bites that he had received in childhood, when he used to +go through the _huerta_ throwing stones at the dogs. Old _Caldera_ spoke +to him from bed, without displaying any emotion. On the following day he +was to go to the veterinary and have his flesh cauterized by a burning +iron. So he ordered, and there was nothing further to be said about the +matter. The young man submitted without flinching to the operation, like +a good, brave chap of the Valencian _huerta_. He had four days' rest in +all, and even at that, his fondness for work caused him new sufferings +and he aided his father with pain-tortured arm. Saturdays, when he came +to his sweetheart's farmhouse, she always asked after his health. "How's +the bite getting along?" He would shrug his shoulders gleefully before +the eyes of the maiden and the two would finally sit down in a corner of +the kitchen, remaining in mute contemplation of each other, or speaking +of the clothes and the bed for their future home, without daring to come +close to each other; there they sat erect and solemn, leaving between +their bodies a space "wide enough for a sickle to pass through," as the +girl's father smilingly put it. + +More than a month passed by. _Caldera's_ wife was the only one that did +not forget the accident. She followed her son about with anxious +glances. Ah, sovereign queen! The _huerta_ seemed to have been abandoned +by God and His holy mother. Over at Templat's cabin a child was +suffering the agonies of hell through having been bitten by a mad dog. +All the _huerta_ folk were running in terror to have a look at the poor +creature; a spectacle that she herself did not dare to gaze upon because +she was thinking of her own son. If her Pascualet, as tall and sturdy as +a tower, were to meet with the same fate as that unfortunate child!... + +One day, at dawn, _Caldera's_ son was unable to arise from his kitchen +bench, and his mother helped him walk to the large nuptial bed, which +occupied a part of the _estudi_, the best room in the cabin. He was +feverish, and complained of acute pain in the spot where he had been +bitten; an awful chill ran through his whole body, making his teeth +chatter and veiling his eyes with a yellowish opacity. Don Jose, the +oldest doctor in the _huerta_, came on his ancient mare, with his +eternal recipe of purgatives for every class of illness, and bandages +soaked in salt water for wounds. Upon examining the sick man he made a +wry face. Bad! Bad! This was a more serious matter; they would have to +go to the solemn doctors in Valencia, who knew more than he. _Caldera's_ +wife saw her husband harness the cart and compel Pascualet to get into +it. The boy, relieved of his pain, smiled assent, saying that now he +felt nothing more than a slight twinge. When they returned to the cabin +the father seemed to be more at ease. A doctor from the city had pricked +Pascualet's sore. He was a very serious gentleman, who gave Pascualet +courage with his kind words, looking intently at him all the while, and +expressing regret that he had waited so long before coming to him. For a +week the two men made a daily trip to Valencia, but one morning the boy +was unable to move. That crisis which made the poor mother groan with +fear had returned with greater intensity than before. The boy's teeth +knocked together, and he uttered a wail that stained the corners of his +mouth with froth; his eyes seemed to swell, becoming yellow and +protruding like huge grape seeds; he tried to pull himself together, +writhing from the internal torture, and his mother hung upon his neck, +shrieking with terror; meanwhile _Caldera_, grimly silent, seized his +son's arms with tranquil strength, struggling to prevent his violent +convulsions. + +"My son! My son!" cried the mother. Ah, her son! Scarcely could she +recognize him as she saw him in this condition. He seemed like another, +as if only his former exterior had remained,--as if an infernal monster +had lodged within and was martyrizing this flesh that had come out of +her own womb, appearing at his eyes with livid flashes. + +Afterwards came calm stupor, and all the women of the district gathered +in the kitchen and deliberated upon the lot of the sick youth, cursing +the city doctor and his diabolical incisions. It was his fault that the +boy now lay thus; before the boy had submitted to the cure he had felt +much better. The bandit! And the government never punished these wicked +souls!... There were no other remedies than the old, true and tried +ones,--the product of the experience of people who had lived years ago +and thus knew much more. One of the neighbors went off to hunt up a +certain witch, a miraculous doctor for dog-bites, serpent bites and +scorpion-stings. Another brought a blind old goatherd, who could cure by +the virtue of his mouth, simply by making some crosses of saliva over +the ailing flesh. The drinks made of mountain herbs and the moist signs +of the goatherd were looked upon as tokens of immediate cure, especially +when they beheld the sick youth lie silent and motionless for several +hours, looking at the ground with a certain amazement, as if he could +feel within him the progress of something strange that grew and grew, +gradually overpowering him. Then, when the crisis re-occurred, the doubt +of the women began to rise, and new remedies were discussed. The youth's +sweetheart came, with her large black eyes moistened by tears, and she +advanced timidly until she came near to the sick boy. For the first time +she dared to take his hand, blushing beneath her cinnamon-colored +complexion at this audacious act. "How do you feel?"... And he, so +loving in other days, recoiled from her tender touch, turning his eyes +away so that he should not see her, as if ashamed of his plight. His +mother wept. Queen of heaven! He was very low; he was going to die. If +only they could find out what dog it was that had bitten him, and cut +out its tongue, using it for a miraculous plaster, as experienced +persons advised!... + +Throughout the _huerta_ it seemed that God's own wrath had burst forth. +Some dogs had bitten others; now nobody knew which were the dangerous +ones and which the safe. All mad! The children were secluded in the +cabins, spying with terrified glances upon the vast fields, through the +half-open doors; mothers journeyed over the winding paths in close +groups, uneasy, trembling, hastening their step whenever a bark sounded +from behind the sluices of the canals; men eyed the domestic dogs with +fear, intently watching their slavering mouths as they gasped or their +sad eyes; the agile greyhound, their hunting companion,--the barking +cur, guardian of the home,--the ugly mastiff who walked along tied to +the cart, which he watched over during the master's absence,--all were +placed under their owners' observation or coldly sacrificed behind the +walls of the corral, without any display of emotion whatever. + +"Here they come! Here they come!" was the shout passed along from cabin +to cabin, announcing the patter of a pack of dogs, howling, ravenous, +their bodies covered with mud, running about without finding rest, +driven on day and night, with the madness of persecution in their eyes. +The _huerta_ seemed to shudder, closing the doors of all the houses and +suddenly bristling with guns. Shots rang out from the sluices, from the +high corn-fields, from cabin windows, and when the wanderers, repelled +and persecuted on every side, in their mad gallop dashed toward the sea, +as if they were attracted by the moist, invigorating air that was washed +by the waves, the revenue-guards camped on the wide strip of beach +brought their mausers to their cheeks and received them with a volley. +The dogs retreated, escaping among the men who were approaching them +musket in hand, and one or another of them would be stretched out at the +edge of the canal. At night, the noisy gloom of the plain was broken by +the sight of distant flashes and the sound of discharges. Every shape +that moved in the darkness was the target for a bullet; the muffled +howls that sounded in the vicinity of the cabins were answered by shots. +The men were afraid of this common terror, and avoided meeting. + +No sooner did night fall than the _huerta_ was left without a light, +without a person upon the roads, as if death had taken possession of the +dismal plain, so green and smiling under the sun. A single red spot, a +tear of light, trembled in this obscurity. It was _Caldera's_ cabin, +where the women, squatting upon the floor, around the kitchen lamp, +sighed with fright, anticipating the strident shriek of the sick +youth,--the chattering of his teeth, the violent contortions of his body +whenever he was seized with convulsions, struggling to repel the arms +that tried to quiet him. + +The mother hung upon the neck of that raving patient who struck terror +to men. She scarcely knew him; he was somebody else, with those eyes +that popped out of their sockets, his livid or blackish countenance, his +writhings, like that of a tortured animal, showing his tongue as he +gasped through bubbles of froth in the agonies of an insatiable thirst. +He begged for death in heart-rending shrieks; he struck his head against +the wall; he tried to bite; but even so, he was her child and she did +not feel the fear experienced by the others. His menacing mouth withdrew +before the wan face that was moistened with tears. "Mother! Mother!" He +recognized her in his lucid moments. She need not fear him; he would +never bite her. And as if he must sink his teeth into something or other +to glut his rage, he bit into his arms until the blood came. + +"My son! My son!" moaned the mother and she wiped the deadly froth from +his lips, afterwards carrying the handkerchief to her eyes, without fear +of contagion. _Caldera_, in his solemn gravity, paid no heed to the +sufferer's threatening eyes, which were fixed upon him with an impulse +of attack. The boy had lost his awe of his father. + +That powerful man, however, facing the peril of his son's mouth, thrust +him back into bed whenever the madman tried to flee, as if he must +spread everywhere the horrible affliction that was devouring his +entrails. + +No longer were the crises followed by extended intervals of calm. They +became almost continuous, and the victim writhed about, clawed and +bleeding from his own bites, his face almost black, his eyes tremulous +and yellow, looking like some monstrous beast set apart from all the +human species. The old doctor had stopped asking about the youth. What +was the use? It was all over. The women wept hopelessly. Death was +certain. They only bewailed the long hours, perhaps days, of horrible +torture that poor Pascualet would have to undergo. + +_Caldera_ was unable to find among his relatives or friends any men +brave enough to help him restrain the sufferer in his violent moments. +They all looked with terror at the door to the _estudi_, as if behind it +were concealed the greatest of dangers. To go shooting through roads and +canals was man's work. A stab could be returned; one bullet could answer +another; but ah! that frothing mouth which killed with a bite!... that +incurable disease which made men writhe in endless agony, like a lizard +sliced by a hoe! + +He no longer knew his mother. In his final moments of lucidity he had +thrust her away with loving brusqueness. She must go!... Let him not see +her again!... He feared to do her harm! The poor woman's friends dragged +her out of the room, forcing her to remain motionless, like her son, in +a corner of the kitchen. _Caldera_, with a supreme effort of his dying +will, tied the agonizing youth to the bed. His beetling brows trembled +and the tears made him blink as he tied the coarse knots of the rope, +fastening the youth to the bed upon which he had been born. He felt as +if he were preparing his son for burial and had begun to dig his grave. +The victim twisted in wild contortions under the father's strong arms; +the parent had to make a powerful effort to subdue him under the rope +that sank into his flesh.... To have lived so many years only to behold +himself at last obliged to perform such a task! To give life to a +creature, only to pray that it might be extinguished as soon as +possible, horrified by so much useless pain!... Good God in heaven! Why +not put an end to the poor boy at once, since his death was now +inevitable?... + +He closed the door of the sick room, fleeing from the rasping shriek +that set everybody's hair on end; but the madman's panting continued to +sound in the silence of the cabin, accompanied by the lamentations of +the mother and the weeping of the other women grouped around the lamp +that had just been lighted. + +_Caldera_ stamped upon the floor. Let the women be silent! But for the +first time he beheld himself disobeyed, and he left the cabin, fleeing +from this chorus of grief. + +Night descended. His gaze wandered toward the thin yellow band that was +visible on the horizon, marking the flight of day. Above his head shone +the stars. From the other homes, which were scarcely visible, resounded +the neighing of horses, barking, and the clucking of fowl--the last +signs of animal life before it sank to rest. That primitive man felt an +impression of emptiness amid the Nature which was insensible and blind +to the sufferings of its creatures. Of what concern to the points of +light that looked down upon him from above could be that which he was +now going through?... All creatures were equal; the beasts that +disturbed the silence of dusk before falling asleep, and that poor youth +similar to him, who now lay fettered, writhing in the worst of agony. +How many illusions his life had contained!... And with a mere bite, a +wretched animal kicked about by all men could finish them all. And no +remedy existed in heaven or upon earth!... + +Once again the distant shriek of the sufferer came to his ears from the +open window of the _estudi_. The tenderness of his early days of +paternity emerged from the depths of his soul. He recalled the nights he +had spent awake in that room, walking up and down, holding in his arms +the little child that was crying from the pains of infancy's illness. +Now he lay crying, too, but without hope, in the agonies of a hell that +had come before its time, and at last ... death. + +His countenance grew frightened, and he raised his hands to his forehead +as if trying to drive away a troublesome thought. Then he appeared to +deliberate... Why not?... + +"To end his suffering ... to end his suffering!" + +He went back to the cabin, only to come out at once with his old +double-barrelled musket, and he hastened to the little window of the +sick room as if he feared to lose his determination; he thrust the gun +through the opening. + +Again he heard the agonizing panting, the chattering of teeth, the +horrible shriek, now very near, as if he were at the victim's bedside. +His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, saw the bed at the back of the +gloomy room, and the form that lay writhing in it--the pale spot of the +face, appearing and disappearing as the sick man twisted about +desperately. + +The father was frightened at the trembling of his hands and the +agitation of his pulse; he, the son of the _huerta_, without any other +diversion than the hunt, accustomed to shoot down birds almost without +aiming at them. + +The wailing of the poor mother brought back to his memory other groans +of long long ago--twenty-two years before--when she was giving birth to +her only son upon that same bed. + +To come to such an end!... His eyes, gazing heavenward, saw a black sky, +intensely black, with not a star in sight, and obscured by his +tears.... + +"Lord! To end his sufferings! To end his sufferings!" + +And repeating these words he pressed the musket against his shoulder, +seeking the lock with a tremulous finger.... Bang! Bang! + + * * * * * + + + INTERNATIONAL: POCKET: LIBRARY + + + 1. MADEMOISELLE FIFI _Guy de Maupassant_ + + Introduction by Joseph Conrad + + 2. TWO TALES _Rudyard Kipling_ + + Foreword by Wilson Follett + + 3. TWO WESSEX TALES _Thomas Hardy_ + + Introduction by Conrad Aiken + + 4. MODERN RUSSIAN CLASSICS + + Stories by Andreyev, Solgub, Gorki, Tchekov, + Babel, and Artzibashev. Foreword by Issac Goldberg + + 5. CANDIDE _Voltaire_ + + Introduction by Andre Morize + + 6. THE LAST LION _Vicente Blasco Ibanez_ + + Introduction by Mariano Joaquin Lorente + + 7. A SHROPSHIRE LAD _A. E. Housman_ + + Preface by William Stanley Braithwaite + + 8. GITANJALI _Rabindranath Tagore_ + + Introduction by W. B. Yeats + + 9. THE BOOK OF FRANCOIS VILLON + + Introduction by H. De Vere Stacpoole + + 10. THE HOUND OF HEAVEN _Francis Thompson_ + + Introduction by G. K. Chesterton + + 11. _Coloured Stars_ Edited by _Edward Powys Mathers_ + + 12. RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM _Edward Fitzgerald_ + + With Decorations by Elihu Vedder + + OTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION + + 13. THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST _Oscar Wilde_ + + 14. FIVE MODERN PLAYS _O'Neill, Schnitzler, Dunsany, + Maeterlinck, Richard Hughes_ + + 15. THREE IRISH PLAYS J_. M. Synge, Douglas Hyde,_ + and _W. B. Yeats_ + + Introduction by Harrison Hale Schaff + + 16. THE GREATEST THING IN THE WORLD _Henry Drummond_ + + Introduction by Elizabeth Towne + + 17. THE SYMPOSIUM OF PLATO + + Introduction by _B. Jowett, M.A._ + + 18. THE WISDOM OF CONFUCIUS + + Edited by _Miles M. Dawson_ + + 19. ALICE IN WONDERLAND _Lewis Carroll_ + + Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel + + 20. THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS _Lewis Carroll_ + + Illustrated by Sir John Tenniel + + OTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION + + * * * * * + +The following typographical errors were corrected by the etext +transcriber: + +There is a curious contradition=>There is a curious contradiction + +Segrada threw his cards=>Sagreda threw his cards + +His eyes, opened extraordinarly=>His eyes, opened extraordinarily + +flocked to _Caldera's_ cavin=>flocked to _Caldera's_ cabin + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Last Lion and Other Tales, by +Vicente Blasco Ibanez + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST LION AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 39062.txt or 39062.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/0/6/39062/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +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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