The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez

  CHAPTER IV

  After glancing with satisfaction at the imposing aspect of Villa Sirena,the adjoining buildings, and the surrounding groves, the Colonel said toNovoa:

  "The part you see cost less than what you don't see. There is a greatdeal of money spent under ground here."

  Turning away from the residence, Don Marcos pointed to the gardens,which lay extended before them in terraces, some on a level with theroof of the "villa," others descending like a mighty stairway almost tothe water's edge.

  He recalled the promontory as it was when the late Princess firstthought of buying it; an ancient refuge of pirates; a tongue of rockswild and storm-swept when the _mistral_ was blowing, with deep cavesgnawed by the surge, which caused the land above to crumble, andthreatened to break it lengthwise into a chain of reefs and islets.

  "The bulwarks we have had to build!" he continued. "You should have seenthe stone we had to put in here,--enough to build a wall around thewhole city!"

  There were walls more than twenty yards thick, descending in a gradualslope from the gardens to the sea. In places, it was possible to seetheir foundations in the natural rocks which emerged from the water likegreenish beads always awash in the foam; in other places the masonrywent down and down until it was lost from view in the watery depths.They were like the breakwaters one sees in harbors. They covered theoriginal hollows of the promontory, the caves, the inlets that wereforming, and all the jagged spaces, which had been filled with richsoil.

  These tremendous works of masonry were Toledo's pride, owing to theircost and grandeur. He called his fellow-countryman's attention to theproportions of the ramparts, worthy of a monarch of olden times.

  "And they are not only strong," he continued, "but look, Professor! Theyare all 'artistic.'"

  The blocks of stone had been cut in large hexagons which fitted togetherin a uniform mosaic, each piece outlined by a cement border.

  At intervals there were large openings, so that the earth might riditself of its moisture; but each one of these blind windows held somesort of wild vegetation, some hardy, aromatic plant, obstinatelyparasitic, spreading downward over the wall and covering it with flowersfor the greater part of the year. The thick groves at the summit, andthe long balustrades arched with wine-colored clematis, seemed to exudea flowery, green, inferior form of life, pouring it out seaward throughthe gaps in the wall.

  "When you see it from a boat below you will appreciate it better. SenorCastro says it reminds him of the hanging gardens of Babylon, and ofQueen Semiramis. He is the only one who would think of such comparisons.All I can say is that it meant doing all this! Imagine all the stone. Awhole quarry! And I wish you could have seen the bargeloads of rich soilit took to fill the hollows, level the ground, and make a decentgarden!"

  He grew enthusiastic as he talked about the modern flower gardensstretching around the villa and along the iron railing bordering theMenton road; and he lavished his praise on their harmonious elegance,and the majestic regulation to which the plants were forced to conform.That was how _he_ felt a garden should be, like many another thing inlife: perfect order, a sense of subordination, and respect for thehierarchies, each thing in its place, with no individual rivalries tocause confusion. But he was afraid to expound his "old-fashioned"tastes, recalling the jests of the Prince and Castro. They preferred thepark, which the Colonel always thought of as the "wild garden."

  They had availed themselves of the extremely ancient olive trees alreadyon the promontory as a beginning for the park. These trees could not becalled old, exactly. Such an appellation would have been petty andinadequate to their age. They were simply ancient, of no visible age.They had an air of changeless eternity about them which made them seemcontemporaries of the rocks and the waves themselves. They looked morelike ruins than like trees, like heaps of black wood, twisted andoverthrown by a storm, or piles of wood, warped and hollowed andscorched by some fire long since past. With them also the invisible partwas more important than the portions exposed to the light. Their roots,as large around as tree trunks, went out of sight, wound their waythrough the red earth, and then appeared once more thirty or forty yardsbeyond. Some of the trees had died on one side, only to come to lifeagain on the other. What had been the trunk five hundred years before,now appeared as a mutilated stump, table shaped, severed by ax orshattered by thunderbolt; and the root, showing above the soil, wasflowering again in its turn, changing into a tree, to continue anapparently limitless existence, in which centuries counted as years. Thehearts of other trees were gnawed away and empty; and these supportedonly half of their outer shell, looking like a tower with one side blownout by an explosion; but on high they displayed an almost ridiculouscrown of foliage, a few handfuls of silvery leaves scattering along thesinuous black branches. Below, the gnarled roots which seemed to havepreserved in their knotted windings the sap that was the first life ofthe earth, embraced a much larger radius on the ground than thatoccupied by the branches in the air. Other olive trees, that were onlythree or four hundred years old, stood erect with the arrogance ofyouth, leafy and exuberant, casting a light, trembling, almostdiaphanous shadow, like that of frosted glass which swayed with thecapricious will of the wind.

  "His Excellency says that there are olive trees here that were seen bythe Romans. Do you believe it, Professor? Can it be that any of thesetrees date back to the time of Jesus Christ?"

  Novoa hesitated in replying. The Colonel continued his observations asthey walked along between walls of well-trimmed shrubbery towards theend of the park.

  "Look: there is the Greek garden."

  It was an avenue of laurels and cypress trees with curving marblebenches, and in the background a semi-circular colonnade.

  "I would have liked to plant a great many palms: African, Japanese, andBrazilian, like those in the gardens of the Casino. But the Prince andDon Atilio detest them. They say that they are an anachronism, that theynever existed in this region, and were imported by the wealthy peoplewho have been building for the last fifty years on the Blue Coast. Allthose two fellows admire is the ancient Provencal or Italian garden:olive trees, laurels, and cypresses--but not the huge, funerealcypresses with bushy tops, that we use in Spain, to decorate the_calvaries_ and cemeteries. Look at them: they are as light and slenderas feathers. To keep the wind from blowing them over you have to planttwo or three together in a clump."

  They had reached the extreme limit of the park, where the leafiest olivetrees were growing. They walked along open pathways through high massesof wild and fragrant vegetation, whose vigorous vitality seemed tochallenge the salt breeze. The plants had stiff leaves, and gave outstrong exotic perfumes. As Novoa breathed in the fragrance, it evokedvisions of far-off lands; and in truth it seemed almost as though anodor of Hindoo cooking or Oriental incense were floating through thatwild garden. A variety of creepers hung from tree to tree. Though it wasstill winter these natural garlands had already begun to bloom, owing tothe warm breezes of an early Spring. They stood out with all the gaysplendor of a courtly festival, against the chaste pale green of theolive trees.

  "Don Atilio says that all this makes him think of a Mozart symphony."

  The deep blue Mediterranean lay at their feet, its slow swells combed bya sharp reef that broke the streaming water into clouds of spray. Herethe promontory divided, forming two arms of unequal length. The shortestwas a prolongation of the park, carrying the magnificent vegetationwhich flourished on its back, into the very waters. The other descendedto the sea in a chaos of rocks and loose earth, with no growth save afew twisted pines, clinging to the soil, obstinately determined toprolong their death struggle. The barren loneliness of this tongue ofland drew a sad smile from the Colonel each time he gazed at thedividing wall. The rugged point was eaten away by the sea with cavesthat threatened to cut it in two. It had no regular place of entrance,being separated from the mainland by the gardens of Villa Sirena, andshut off by a hostile wall, which represented the inalienable rights ofownership, and was a source o
f constant indignation and amazement to DonMarcos.

  Doubtless that was why he turned away from it, gazing out toward whereMonaco lay beyond the rocky cliffs.

  "It is lovely, Professor: one of the most delightful panoramas anywhere.There is good reason for people to come here from the farthest ends ofthe earth!"

  He let his glance rest on the violet colored mountains that, at thefarthest horizon, projected out upon the sea, like the limit of a world.They were the so-called Mountains of the Moors, which, with EsterelPoint, form a branch of the Maritime Alps, a separate mountain chain,which juts into the Mediterranean. In the opposite direction lay aportion of the pseudo-Blue Coast, which begins at Toulon and Hyeres. Butthis part did not interest the Colonel. What he saw, more in imaginationthan in reality, was a bird's-eye view of the real Blue Coast, his ownBlue Coast--that of the aristocratic and wealthy people on whom he wasin the habit of calling, in their elegant villas and expensive hotels.

  The Maritime Alps form a giant wall, parallel to the sea. In some placesthey fall steeply toward the Mediterranean with the sharp slope of abulwark, without the slightest break to mask the abrupt descent. Atother points the incline is gentler, creating waves of stone, miniaturemountains which stand out above the water, forming capes and placidinlets. And on these sheltered shores, from Esterel to the Italianfrontier, wealthy people, sensitive to cold, arriving in pilgrimagesevery winter, had finally converted the sleepy provincial villages intoworld-famous capitals. Fishing hamlets were transformed into eleganttowns; the large Paris and London hotels erected enormous annexes on thedeserted bays; the most expensive shops of the Boulevards openedbranches in tiny settlements where a few years before every one had gonebarefoot.

  In his mind Toledo went over the undulating line of celebrated places,overlooking the sea from the promontories, or nestling in the littlehorseshoe bays to profit more directly by the refraction of the wintersunlight from the red walls of the Alps: Cannes, which inspired in him acertain awe on account of its quiet distinction--the place whereconsumptives and old people of renown desire to die--Antibes, with itssquare harbor and its walls which, according to Castro, recalled theromantic seascapes painted by Vernet; Nice, the capital where peoplecome together to spend their money, copying Parisian life; the deep bayof Villefranche, the harborage of battleships; Cap-Ferrat and thebeautiful Point Saint-Hospice, a former den of African pirates, juttingout from it; Beaulieu, with its Tunisian palaces, the homes of Americanmultimillionaires, who always keep open house, and who had often invitedthe Colonel to luncheon there; Eze, the feudal hamlet, hanging grimly tothe side of the Alps, and falling in ruins around its decaying castle,while down below, the people who fled from it are forming a new town,beside the gulf which their predecessors proudly called the Sea of Eze;Cap d'Ail, which serves as a sort of portico to the adjoiningPrincipality; the Rock of Monaco, carrying on its giant's back a walledcity; opposite it the dazzling Monte Carlo; and beyond, Cap-Martin, withsomber vegetation, reserved and lordly, the ultimate shelter ofdethroned kings; and lastly, close to Italy, pleasant Menton, thestronghold of Englishmen, another place for invalids of distinction,where every self-respecting consumptive feels obliged to end his days.

  "Think of the money that has been spent here!" Don Marcos exclaimed.

  Fifty years before, the Corniche railway in successfully finding its waythrough this mountain region had been considered a marvelous piece ofwork; but now for the convenience of winter visitors, the same work hadbeen repeated in every direction. Smoothly curving roads, clean and firmas a drawing-room floor, extended along the seashore, ascended theAlpine heights, passing from crest to crest on lofty viaducts, orburrowing the hills in long tunnels. Where the perpendicular rock wouldnot allow a ledge to be cut the engineer had made one with buttressesmany yards high, the bases of which were lost to view in the waves.

  A new dream had been added to the many which the blessed in this world'sgoods may realize--the owning of a house on the Riviera! Within fiftyyears, every architectural whim, every possible fancy of rich peoplebent on creating sensations, had covered this shore of the Mediterraneanwith villas, Greek, Arabic, Persian, Venetian, and Tuscan palaces, anddwellings of other distinct or indescribable styles. The palm tree wasimported and acclimated as a native plant.

  "Enormous fortunes have been invested here; three generations have beenruined, and as many more enriched. When you think what it was a centuryago, and see what it is now...!"

  The Colonel spoke of an Englishwoman's tomb, completely abandoned on theextreme point of Cap-Ferrat. She was a forerunner of the present wintervisitors, a youthful contemporary of Byron, charmed by the beauty of theMediterranean, and by the pathless and practically unexplored mountains.On her death, they buried her on the deserted promontory, because shewas a Protestant. The fishermen and peasants of this lonely coastshunned the stranger, denying her the rights of hospitality even intheir cemeteries.

  "This happened less than a century ago. And such poverty as there was!The only products of the country were thick skinned oranges, lemons, andthese olives. The trees are very pretty, very decorative, but they bearan exceedingly small pointed olive, all pit. Compare them with ours inAndalusia, Professor! And to-day there are millionaires, born right hereon the Riviera, who have grown rich merely by selling the wretchedfields of their fathers. The red land, abounding in stones, is bought bythe yard, even in the most out of the way spots, like lots in largecities. When you least expect it, at a turn in the road, you come acrossa miserable hut with a little land around it that takes your fancy. Theroof of the building sags, and the wind blows through the cracks in thewall. The owners sleep with the pig, the chickens, and the horse. Thissame poverty and shiftlessness you find among the peasants almosteverywhere. You happen to think that you might build up a country homethere without much expense. Surely the good people won't ask very much,no matter how inflated their ideas of value may be! But when you ask theprice, after much talk, and many doubts, they finally say in the mostcasual manner: 'A hundred and fifty thousand francs, or two hundredthousand.' When you protest in amazement they reply, pointing to themountains, the sun, and the sea: 'And the view, monsieur.'"

  The red soil of the Alps amounts to little for its power of production:it is the situation that gives it its value. And the native has grownrich selling, so much per yard, the sunlight, the azure of theMediterranean, the orange color of the mountains and the dazzling gloryof the clouds at sunset, the shelter of the distant rock which, like ascreen, turns aside the icy breeze of the _mistral_.

  "If you only knew how inexplicably obstinate some of these people are!"

  As Don Marcos spoke he turned and pointed out to Novoa the miserablestrip of land that seemed fastened like a curse to the gardens of VillaSirena. The Princess Lubimoff with all her millions, had not been ableto buy the tip of that promontory. It belonged to an old married couplewithout any children. "That is their house," he added, pointing to asort of yellowish cube, halfway up the mountain, beside a road that cutacross the red and black slope.

  The Princess, after acquiring the promontory for her medieval castle,had considered the acquisition of the small extremity a mere trifle."Give them what they ask," she said to her business agent. And in spiteof her recklessness with money, she was amazed to learn that theyrefused two hundred thousand francs for a few rocks undermined by thewaves, and a couple of dozen dying pines.

  "I was present at the interviews with the old people. The agent of thePrincess offered five hundred thousand, six hundred thousand, and thecouple did not seem to grasp the meaning of the figures. The Princesslost her patience, lamenting the fact that they were not in Russia, inthe good old days. She even talked of engaging an assassin in Italy--asshe had read in certain novels--to get rid of the stubborn old pair. Itwas just like her Excellency,--but she was really very kind at heart!Finally, one day, she shouted to us: 'Offer them a million, and let usbe done with it!' Imagine, Professor, more than two thousand francs ayard; you could buy land at that rate in the b
usiness district of a bigcity! We went up to their cottage. They didn't bat an eyelash when theyheard the figure. The old woman, who was the more intelligent of thetwo, let Her Excellency's lawyer explain what a million meant. Shelooked at her husband for a long time, in spite of the fact that she wasthe only one of the two who was doing any thinking, and finallyaccepted; but on condition that the Princess should erect, on theoutermost point, a chapel to the Virgin. It was a wish that her simpleimagination had cherished all her life. Without the chapel, she wouldnot accept the million. 'Don't worry, we'll build the chapel!' we said.The day set for signing the papers, we found the two old people, sittingin the lawyer's office side by side, with bowed heads. The lawyerreceived us, wringing his hands, and looking toward heaven with anexpression of despair. They would not accept! It was no use insisting.They wanted to keep things just as they had received them from theirforefathers. 'What would we do with a million?' groaned the old woman.'We would lead a terrible life!' We tried to talk to her about thechapel, in order to persuade her; but they both fled, like peoplefinding themselves in bad company, and afraid of being tempted."

  The colonel looked once more at the dividing wall.

  "Her Excellency being a born fighter, immediately had the partitionraised before beginning the foundation of the castle. As you see fromhere, the old people can reach their property only by the beach; and onstormy days they have to enter the water up to their knees. That doesn'tmatter; from that time on they became more attached than ever to theirland. They used to come down from the mountains every Sunday, to sit atthe foot of the wall. By constantly measuring the point they succeededin discovering an error made by the architect, who had been a trifleflustered owing to the haste enforced upon him by the Princess. He hadmade a mistake of eighteen inches, and half the width of the wall was onthe old people's land. The peasant woman, in spite of the fact that shehad a sort of superstitious fear of the majesty of the law, threatenedto bring suit even though she might be forced to sell her hut and fieldon the mountain to fight the case. It was necessary to tear down thewall, and build it up again, half a yard farther this way. It meant somesixty thousand francs lost--nothing for the Princess--and yet I suspectat times, that the affair may have hastened her death."

  Don Marcos felt that he must pause a moment out of respect for thedeceased.

  "The old woman has died too," he continued, "and her husband comes hereonly from time to time. When he finds that one of his pine trees hasfallen, through the wearing away of the soil, he sits down close besideit, just as though he were watching beside a corpse. At other times hespends hours looking at the sea and the huge rocks, as thoughcalculating how long it would take the waves to break his property topieces. One afternoon, going on foot from La Turbie to Roquebrune, I ranacross him near his hut, where he was pasturing some sheep. With hislong beard he looked like a patriarch; and he is always the same,leaning on his staff, with a dirty tam-o'shanter on his head, and arough cape about his shoulders. Besides, he always has a pipe in hismouth, though he rarely smokes. 'The million is waiting,' I said in fun,'whenever you want to come and get it.' He didn't seem to understand me.He smiled with a look of vague recognition, but perhaps he thought I wassome one else. His gaze was fixed on Monte Carlo, a bird's-eye view ofwhich lay at our feet. He must spend hours and weeks like that. His facelooks as though it were carved of wood, or molded in terra cotta; heseldom speaks, and no one can guess the substance of his reflections.But I think that every day the same identical amazement must be renewed,and that he will die without ever recovering from his surprise. He seesthe expanse of waters, which is always the same, the eternal hills, thatnever change, the house built by his ancestors, which was old when hewas born, the olive groves, the mighty rocks ... but that city hassprung up, since he was a grown man, from a plateau covered withthickets, and burrowed with caves, and it is enlarged each year with newhotels, new streets, and more domes and turrets!"

  The Colonel suddenly forgot the old peasant. With his fellow-countryman,Novoa, he felt quite talkative, and he imagined that his thoughts flowedmore freely and vigorously, through this contact with a man of learning.Besides, he felt a certain pride in being able to talk like an oldinhabitant, of the many things of which the new-comer was ignorant.

  "The fortress you see over there practically belonged to us at onetime," he went on, pointing to the Castle of Monaco. "For a century anda half it had a Spanish garrison. Our great Charles V"--and the oldLegitimist spoke the name with a note of deep respect--"once sleptthere. And there, too."

  Turning, he pointed out on the mountain summit of Cap-Martin the villageof Roquebrune, huddled about its ruined castle.

  "The archivist of the Prince of Monaco is studying the numerous lettersin his possession written by our great Emperor to the Grimaldi family.When the historians of the Principality wish to establish theindisputable independence of their tiny land, they cite as the originsof the state the treaties signed at Burgos, Tordesillas, and Madrid."

  In a few words he went over the history of the little country, whichcame into being around a little harbor. Semitic sailors gave it the nameof Melkar--the Phoenician Hercules--and the word gradually changedinto the present one, Monaco. The Guelphs and Ghibellines of Genoafought for possession of its castle, until a Grimaldi, disguised as amonk, entered the enclosure by surprise and opened the gates to hisfriends, making the ancient Hercules Harbor an estate of his family forall time. "This friar, sword in hand," continued Don Marcos, "is theone that figures on both sides of the coat of arms of Monaco. From thattime on the history of the Grimaldis is similar to that of all theruling houses of those days. They made war on their neighbors, andquarreled among themselves, to the extent that brother even assassinatedbrother. The sailors of Monaco plied the trade of corsair, and theirflag was even used to give distinction to the pirates of othercountries. The alliance of the Grimaldis with Spain allowed them to usethe title of Prince for the first time. Charles V addressed them in hisletters as 'dear Cousins,' and gave them other honorary titles. Thisgreat rock was of exceeding importance to the Spanish Monarchs who hadlands in Italy and needed to keep the route safe. The Kings of Francewere very anxious, on their part, to do away with this obstacle and winthe Grimaldis over to their side. You must realize that for a hundredand fifty years the latter kept their agreements faithfully, and thatduring all this time the subsidies that had been promised them fromMadrid were sent only at rare intervals. Two galleys from Monaco alwaysfigured in the rolls of the Spanish navy. Only when the decline ofAustria began to cause us to lose our influence in Europe, did theGrimaldis, like people fleeing from a house that is tumbling down,abandon us. At that particular moment, Richelieu was making France agreat power, and they went with him. One night amid thunder andlightning, when the garrison, composed for the most part of Italians inthe service of Spain, were carelessly asleep, the French caught themunawares, disarmed them, after killing a few who tried to resist, andfinally sent the remainder courteously to the Spanish Viceroy at Milan,with the notice that the alliance must be considered broken forever.

  "The Grimaldis became the liege-lords of France. Later they went toVersailles, as courtiers, or served in the King's armies. During theRevolution they were persecuted, like all the other princes, and abeautiful lady of the family was guillotined. Napoleon kept them in hismilitary following as aides-de-camp, and the long peace of theNineteenth Century caused them to return and take up their abode oncemore in their tiny Principality.

  "They were so poor!" Toledo went on. "They were obliged to keep up theshow and pomp of a court, since in a small state where all areneighbors, the Prince has to exaggerate formality, in order to hold thepeople's respect. The same expenses must be defrayed as in a largenation; the maintenance of courts, administrative offices, and even adiminutive army for internal safety. And the whole Principality producednothing but lemons and olives.... You can see for yourself how poor andhow hard pressed they must have been, not knowing how to raise funds,especially since under the rule of Flore
stan I, the grandfather of thepresent Prince, there was an attempted revolution, owing to the decreeof the Sovereign that the olives of the country should be pressedexclusively in the mills of his estate.

  "Later under Charles III, the situation became still more difficult. ThePrincipality was dismembered. The two cities, Menton and Roquebrune,dependencies of Monaco, full of enthusiasm for the Italian Revolution,declared their freedom, and joined the Kingdom of Savoy. Shortly after,when Napoleon III acquired the former County of Nice they fell under thecontrol of France. And thus Monaco was isolated within French territory,with its sovereignty clearly recognized; but a sovereignty that embracedonly a single city on a rocky height, a small harbor, and a littlesurrounding land overgrown with parasitical vegetation; about as muchground as a peaceful citizen might cover in a morning walk. How was thetiny State to be maintained?

  "It was saved by gambling. Don't imagine as some people do, that theidea originated with the Ruler of Monaco. Many German Princes had hadrecourse to some enterprise to support their domains. It is a Germaninvention; but gambling on the shore of the Mediterranean, under awinter sun that seldom fails, is quite a different thing from gamblingin Central Europe. At first the business was unsuccessful. Theyestablished a miserable Casino in old Monaco, opposite the Palace, inwhat is now the barracks of the Prince's Guard. The betting was veryslight. It was necessary to come by diligence, over the Alpine heights,following the old Roman route, and to descend from La Turbie by roadsthat were like ravines. One had to be very anxious indeed to gamble.Later the Casino was transferred to the harbor below, where the LaCondamine district is to-day: another failure. The lessees of the gamingprivileges went bankrupt, and were unable to fulfill their obligationsto the Prince. And then the Corniche Railway was put through, placingMonaco on the road between Paris and Italy; and all the gamblers andidlers of the world came flocking here within a few years. What atransformation!"

  The Colonel recalled once more the old peasant, who, pasturing his sheepon the Alpine slope, spent hours and hours with his eyes fixed on themarvelous city, stretching out below, on the very spot that, as a youngman, he had seen covered with thickets.

  "That was the beginning of Monte Carlo. Opposite the rock of Monaco,forming the other side of the harbor, there was an abandoned plateau,only some sixty years ago. Scattered about the gardens of the Square,among the tropical trees, there are still a few scraggly olive treesleft from those times. They have been spared as relics of the days ofpoverty. Where we now find the Casino, the large hotels, and the mostelegant tea-houses, there were caves dating back to prehistoric times,which in less remote periods served as haunts for thieves. On account ofthe grottoes this wild plateau was nicknamed _The Caverns_. Some of thethings you have seen in the Anthropological Museum in Monaco, stoneaxes, human bones, etc., came from those caves. And the abandonedplateau, in some ten or twelve years, was converted into Monte Carlo,the great city of world fame, leaving on the heights opposite inobscurity and more or less in oblivion, the historic Monaco, which atpresent is merely one of its suburbs. Monte Carlo has grown so that itextends from one end of the Principality to the other; the entirenational territory is covered with houses, and each year it over-flowsstill farther beyond the boundary line. The French part is calledBeausoleil. You have only to cross the Square in front of the Casino,ascend the sloping gardens, and mount a stairway to the Boulevard duNord, to find one of the rarest sights in Europe. One sidewalk belongsto the Prince of Monaco, and the other across the street, to the FrenchRepublic. The shopkeepers pay different taxes and obey different laws,according to whether their show windows are on the left or on theright."

  Toledo remained thoughtful for a moment.

  "The miracles accomplished by roulette!" he continued. "The magic powerof 'red and black'! They say the Casino is a marvel of poor taste, butthe walls and ceilings fairly drip with gold, as in a rich church. Thetheater there is the first to produce many operas that become famousthroughout the world. The countless hotels are like palaces. Monte Carlobristles with domes and turrets like an oriental city. The streets withtheir scrupulously clean pavements, seem like drawing-rooms. Thereisn't a trace of dirt. And think of the gardens! The Alps, here, form awonderful screen; we live in a sunny shelter; almost a hothouse. But attimes the _mistral_ blows, and it is cold. I don't know how it ispossible for all those tropical plants that are so fresh and luxuriant,and all those trees that originate in a climate as hot as an oven, tolive here. The poor old olives must be as amazed as I myself at findingthemselves in such company. 'Trente et Quarante' must be a powerfulfertilizer! I'm sure that if the gambling were to stop, all thistropical vegetation would vanish like a dream."

  The silent Professor greeted these words with a smile.

  "And what a transformation in the people!" the Colonel continued."Notice the crowd some Sunday; none of them like workmen, all equallywell dressed! The girls here copy what they see worn by the elegantsociety women; and imagine how many of the latter come here! You neversee a beggar, nor a man in rags. To be born here means something: one'slivelihood is assured. The Casino takes care of every one; there isalways a place for every citizen in the gambling rooms, in the gardens,or in the theater; and if not, on the police force, in theadministrative offices, or in the Prince's household--and the latter ispaid for with the Company's money too. To achieve the dignity of beingput in charge of a gaming table is the native's highest ambition. He mayearn as much as a thousand francs a month, not counting the tips. Thatis more perhaps than you will ever earn, Professor. And he ends his daysin a little villa he has built on the heights of Beausoleil, where hecan look after his garden, with a view below of the Casino--the house ofthe Good Fairy that dispenses all blessings. They all have enough tolive on as long as they know how to keep a silent tongue, and mind theirown business. An old cab driver, whom I sometimes engage, was boldenough one evening to talk quite frankly with me, owing to the factthat he was slightly intoxicated. His wife has been for some twentyyears now in the Ladies' Section of the Casino toilets; his daughterswork as cleaners; his sons are employed in the theater. They all bringin money. Moreover, the old men retire on pay, the sick are notforgotten, and the widows and orphans of every employee that dies duringservice are paid pensions. 'It's a great country, sir,' the driver saidto me, 'the best in the world. Every one can make a living, as long ashe's wise enough to keep his mouth shut, and not make trouble.' And youcan depend upon it, they are all discreet. Moreover they watch oneanother, and are afraid of being denounced by their best friend, if theytalk about the latest scandal, or a gambler's suicide. Among strangersnot one of them lets on that he knows anything."

  "And supposing one of them were to talk?" asked Novoa. "Or if one ofthem were to make trouble?"

  "They would banish him. It is a paternal despotism, and does not dareinflict harsher punishments. The police of the Prince make him go halfway across the street, and put him on the French sidewalk.... Don'tlaugh; it is a cruel penalty. Exiles to other places finally growaccustomed to their misfortune, since they live at a great distance, andsee their native land only in their mind's eye. But a man who is exiledhere can almost reach out and touch his country with his hand; he hasonly to cross the width of the street. As the land slopes downward, hecan see his house a few roofs beyond. He sees the smoke from breakfastcoming out of the chimney, and yet he cannot sit down to his own table;the family is at the windows, and he has to talk to them by signs.Moreover, and worst of all, he sees that the rest who were prudent go onleading their pleasant lives in the shadow of the Casino, while he hasto seek a new profession at much harder work. His torment becomesunbearable, and he finally flees to some distant city, to let a fewyears go by, so he may be pardoned."

  Don Marcos began to praise Monte Carlo again; "People who lose theirmoney in the Casino always retain an unpleasant memory of it; but wherecan one find a quieter, cleaner, or more peaceful city, with itsSpring-like climate in mid-winter?

  "Everybody comes here sooner or later; lots of rogues,
of course; butyou find famous people too, and you can enjoy society of distinction. Iscarcely ever gamble, and for that reason I appreciate the beauty of thescenery. And more than that: at times I have the satisfaction one feelsin getting things for nothing; and when I gaze at the lovely walks, whenI attend the concerts and operas, and enjoy the sweet tranquillity of acity in which there are no poor, and no desperate revolutionists, I sayto myself: 'The gamblers pay for this, and you get the benefit of it.They lose so that you may enjoy life.'"

  As Novoa smiled again, the Colonel expressed his admiration still moreglowingly.

  "It seems impossible that roulette should have performed so manymiracles! And there must be others besides those which lie before oureyes. Gambling has paid the cost of this delightful harbor of LaCondamine: a harbor for yachts, with elegant docks that are reallypromenades. It must have had a hand also in the restoration of thecastle of the Prince. It even helps to develop the spiritual life of theplace, and increase the prestige of religion. Before roulette came noneof the clergy were of higher rank than priests. Since the triumph of theCasino there has been a Bishop, and canons; and a beautiful Byzantinecathedral has been erected, which, according to Castro, needs only tohave Time darken it a bit. The Sunday masses are one of the chiefattractions of the Principality. The Nice papers print the program ofthe music that will be sung by the choir, alongside the program of theconcert at the Casino: '_Canto piano_ of the most celebrated masters,the Italian Palestrina, or the Spanish Vitoria.'"

  Novoa interrupted him.

  "There is the Museum of Oceanography too. That alone is enough to removeany taint from the money which has come from the Casino."

  He said this with the pleasing voice and the somewhat distractedexpression that were natural to him; but in his words there was themystic ardor of the firm believer.

  The Colonel nodded assent. The Museum which roused the Professor'senthusiasm was the work of the Prince, and as for himself, Don Marcosfelt a deep respect for "Albert," as he called the sovereign familiarly."Albert" had been an officer in the Spanish navy. As a lieutenantcommander he had sailed the coast of Cuba; in his books he had praisedthe old Spanish sailors, his first masters in the art of navigation.What more was needed to inspire veneration in Don Marcos?

  "Whenever he attends a ceremony in his Principality he wears the uniformof a Spanish admiral. And he is a man of science: you know that betterthan I do."

  He gave Novoa a chance to speak. Three-fourths of the earth were coveredwith water, and for centuries and centuries humanity took no interest ininvestigating the mysterious hidden life of the ocean depths.Navigators, skimming the surface, went their way, guided by routinemethods or by fragmentary experience, without succeeding in embracingthe fixed and regular laws of the atmospheric or ocean currents.Science, which has to its credit so many discoveries in a single centuryof existence, halted in dismay at the edge of the sea. The scientistsin the laboratories only need material for their work, and that iseasily obtained; but to study the seas, to live on them for years andyears, is another matter. For that, it was necessary to have ships andmen at one's disposal, to construct new and costly apparatus, to spendmillions, to cruise patiently and leisurely here and there over theocean wastes, with no fixed goal, waiting for the great blue depthscasually to reveal their secrets. That meant a great outlay, with slightreturns. Only a sovereign, a king, could do that; and that was what theformer officer in the Spanish navy, on becoming a Prince, had done.

  "Thanks to him," Novoa proceeded, "oceanography, which scarcely amountedto anything, has become to-day an important study. His yachts have beenfloating laboratories, cruisers of science, which have gradually madethe first conquests of the deep. With his drifting buoys he has beenable to demonstrate in a conclusive manner the circular drift of theAtlantic currents; with his careful soundings he has brought to lightthe mysteries of deep sea life at various levels of the great body ofwater. Scientists have been enabled to sail the sea and study, with nomaterial restrictions, thanks to him. Through his generosity handsomebooks have been published, museums have been opened, and excavationshave been made in the earth which throw enlightenment on the origin ofman."

  "And all this," the Colonel interrupted, persisting in the admirationalready expressed, "with the money from the Casino! Gambling hasdefrayed the expenses of the cruisers of science, the coal and men forfar-off expeditions, the printing of books and journals, the subsidiesfor young men anxious to perfect their scientific training; theInstitute of Oceanography in Paris; the Museum of Oceanography inMonaco, where you are working; the Museum of Anthropology and.... Andyou have to figure that all this is merely a tip left by thestockholders of the gambling corporation. Just imagine what the Casinoproduces! And lots of people consider it terrible!"

  "It doesn't make any difference where wealth comes from as long as it isput to useful purposes," said the Professor, with a note of hardness inhis voice. "No one asks a government the origin of its funds, when theyare used for some good purpose. Often they have been extorted with morecruelty and violence than those which come from here, where the peopleall flock of their own free will. It is a good thing that the money ofscheming, foolish people, and of those who feel their lives are emptyand don't know how to fill them, should be used for once to accomplishsomething great and human. Think what this Prince of a tiny State hasdone for science in the course of a few years. If only the greatEmperors would devote the enormous forces at their command to similarenterprises! If only Kaiser Wilhelm had done the same, instead ofpreparing for war all his life, how humanity might have progressed!"

  The Colonel, considering himself a warrior by profession, only halfadmitted the truth of the Professor's words. The sword, the glory won onthe battle-field, were something after all, and the world would be uglywithout them, it seemed to him. But he remained silent, not venturing tospoil his friend's enthusiasm.

  "All the sins on the one hand are redeemed on the other." Saying this,Novoa pointed to the huge Casino, with its multi-colored domes andtowers, rising from the table-land of Monte Carlo. Then tracing with hisfinger an imaginary arc above the harbor, he paused when it pointed tothe eminence on the left, where, on the cliffs of Monaco, a large squareedifice rose, the walls of which descended to the water's edge. It wasthe Museum of Oceanography, a fine new building in stone that, in thatatmosphere so seldom streaked with rain, still retained its waxywhiteness.

  Don Marcos smiled at the contrast. "Don Atilio says the same thing.Every time he gazes at the view from here, he looks at the two buildingsseparated by the mouth of the harbor, and occupying the twopromontories. He says the one justifies the other, and adds: 'They are...' What is it he says?--an antithesis. No; it's something else."

  The metallic booming of a gong drifted through the trees from VillaSirena, summoning the guests, who were scattered through the park, orhad not appeared as yet from their rooms. The Colonel listened withpleasure: "Luncheon!"

  He gave a last look at the two enormous buildings, one of them bristlingwith sharp and many colored pinnacles, the other plain and square, ofuniform whiteness. Between the promontories, at the water's surface, twonew breakwaters meet, closing the mouth of the harbor. At the outermostextremity of each is a beacon: one red, the other green.

  The Colonel tapped his brow and looked at his compatriot with a smile."Oh, yes, I remember. He says the Casino and the Museum are a symbol."

  The little group which Castro had labelled "Enemies of Women" had nowbeen in existence two weeks with no disharmony and no obstacles to theperfect happiness of the members. Complete freedom was theirs! VillaSirena belonged to them all, and the real owner seemed merely like anadditional guest.

  Arising late in the morning, Castro saw the Prince in a corner of thegarden with his shirt open at the neck and his bare arms wielding aspade. The thing that made the new life complete for him was thecultivating of a little garden, and having the gratification of eatingvegetables and smelling flowers that were the product of his own toil.This man who had al
ways been surrounded by a corps of servants to attendto all his wants, was anxious now to be self-dependent, and feel theproud satisfaction of one who relies entirely on his own hands. Vainlyhe invited Castro to join him in this healthy, profitable exercise,which was at the same time a return to primitive simplicity.

  "Thanks; I don't care for Tolstoi. As far as the simple life goes thisis all I want." And he stretched out on the moss, under a tree, whilethe Prince went on digging his garden. They talked for a while of theircompanions. Novoa was in the library, or wandering about the park. Somemornings he would take the early train for Monaco to continue hisstudies at the Museum. As for Spadoni, he never arose before noon, andoften the Colonel would have to pound on his door so that he would notbe late for lunch.

  "He never gets to sleep until dawn," said Castro. "He spends the nightstudying his notes on the way the gambling has been going. He gets intomy room sometimes when I'm asleep, to tell me one of his everlastingsystems that he has just discovered; and I have to threaten him with aslipper. In his room, among the music albums, he keeps piles of greensheets that give each day's plays for a year at all the various tablesin the Casino. He's crazy."

  But Castro took care not to add that he often asked Spadoni to lend himhis "archives" in order to verify his own calculations; and in spite ofhis making fun of the latter's discoveries, he used to risk a littlemoney on them, through a gambler's superstition that attaches greatvalue to the intuitions of the simple-minded.

  After luncheon, Castro and Spadoni would both hurry off to the Casino.The Prince, when not attending a concert, remained with Novoa and theColonel in a _loggia_ on the upper story, looking out over the sea. Thewar had filled that part of the Mediterranean with shipping. In normaltimes the sea presented a deserted monotonous appearance, with nothingto arrest the eye save the wheeling of the gulls, the foamy leaps of thedolphins and the sail of an occasional fishing boat. The steamers andthe large sailing vessels were scarcely ever to be seen even as tinyshadows on the horizon, following their course direct from Marseilles toGenoa, without following the extensive shore line of the Riviera gulf.But now the submarine menace had obliged the merchant ships to slipalong within shelter of the coast. Convoys passed nearly every day;freighters of various nationalities, daubed like zebras to reduce theirvisibility, and escorted by French and Italian torpedo-boats.

  These rosaries of boats so close to the coast that one could read theirnames and distinguish their captains standing on the bridge, caused thePrince and the Professor to talk of the horrors of war.

  At times the Colonel entered the conversation, but only to lament thedifficulties which such a war presented to the fulfillment of his dutiesas steward. Each day his task was becoming more difficult. He was nolonger able to find anything worth serving at a table like that of thePrince, and even so, the prices that he paid roused his indignation whenhe compared them with those of peace times! And the servants! He hadsent to Spain for some, now that all those from the district were in thearmy; but the hotel proprietors had immediately enticed them away. Theyall preferred to serve in cafes or in places where people arecontinually coming and going, tempted by the chance of getting tips andof associating with the white-aproned chamber-maids.

  He had improvised dining-room service with the two Italian boys from theBrodhigera, whose families were living in Monaco. The older and livelierof the two had the name of Pistola, and treated his companion indespotic fashion, bullying him with kicks and cuffs when the Colonel'sback was turned. Atilio, for the sake of the rhyme, had nicknamedPistola's comrade, Estola, and every one in the house accepted the name,even the boy himself.

  "When you think of the work it cost me to make decent respectablelooking servants out of them!" groaned Toledo. "And now it seems thatthey are going to be called back to Italy as soldiers. More men off forthe war! Even these young lads that haven't reached the age yet! Whatshall we do when Estola and Pistola go?"

  Many evenings, at the dinner hour, the rules of the community wererudely broken. The first to desert was Spadoni. He arrived sometimesafter midnight, saying that he had dined with some friends. At othertimes he did not return at all. After a few days had gone by he wouldquietly appear, with the serene ingenuousness of a stray dog, just asthough he had gone out only a few hours before. No one could ever findout exactly where he had been. He himself was not sure. "I met somefriends." And in the same half hour, these friends would be at onemoment some Englishmen from Nice, or at another a family fromCap-Martin, as though he had been in both places at the same time.

  Atilio also used to absent himself. A gambling companion had shown him,in the Casino, the little cards divided into columns, which are used tonote the alternating frequency of "red" and "black." Various ladies hadtaken similar documents from their hand-bags, where they lay among thehandkerchiefs, the powder boxes, the lip sticks, the banknotes, and thevarious colored chips, which are used as money in the gaming. Theindications all agreed. During the morning and afternoon the "bets" wereall lost, and the house was winning; but from eight o'clock in theevening on, undreamed-of fortune smiled on the players. The statisticscould not be clearer; there was no possible doubt. And Castro wouldrenounce the excellent food of Villa Sirena, satisfied with a glass ofbeer and a sandwich at the bar. Then at midnight he would return in ahired carriage, paying the astonished driver with prodigality. At othertimes he would stand in front of the gate fishing in his pockets to gettogether enough to pay for the cab. Fate had lied. Nor, on thoseoccasions, would any of the prophets of the little cards have been ableto lend him a cent.

  Toledo muttered protests. This lack of orderly habits made him lamentonce more the scarcity of servants. The help always got up late onaccount of having to sit up and wait at night. For that reason, on thenights when all the companions of the Prince were present, the Colonelfelt the satisfaction of the Governor of a fortress when he sees all theposterns locked and feels the keys in his pocket. After dinner theywould listen to Spadoni. Seated at a grand piano, he would playaccording to his mood or according to the wishes of the Prince. Lubimoffwas a melomaniac whose musical taste was cloyed, perverted, by anexcessive refinement. He cared only for rare works, and obscurecomposers.

  Castro, who was himself a pianist, at times was unable to hide hisenthusiasm for the wonderful execution of the Italian virtuoso.

  "And just think that after all he is an idiot!" he exclaimed, with thefrankness of a man who is carried away by his feelings. "All hisfaculties are warped, and narrowed, concentrated on a single purpose,music, without leaving anything for anything else. However, what's thedifference? He's an idiot--but a sublime idiot."

  * * * * *

  There were nights when Spadoni remained with his elbow on the keyboardand his brow resting in his right hand, as though completely absorbed inmusic. As a matter of fact, the visions that were then whirling in hishead, beneath those long locks, were red and black squares, many cards,and thirty-six numbers in three rows beginning with a zero. The Prince,annoyed by the silence, turned to Castro.

  "Tell us something about your grandfather, Don Enrique."

  This grandfather had married an aunt of General Saldana, and althoughAtilio had never known him personally he often talked about him, as acurious sort of person who aroused either his admiration or his bitterirony, according to the mood he happened to be in. This ancestor was aman of warlike temperament and rather perverse enthusiasms, who hadsucceeded in depleting the family fortune, already undermined by hispredecessors. Related to a great many nobles, he usually would deny therelationship if forced to the point, as though it were something ofwhich to be ashamed. Other members of the family might take the title ofnobility if they chose. The motto which had figured for centuries on theCastro shield was an accurate summary of the man's character: "To-morrowmore revolutionary than to-day." For thirty years there had not been asuccessful or abortive insurrection in Spain in which thissomber-looking gentleman had not had a hand. He was very sensitive toinsult and a great s
wordsman. He treated men like a despot and at thesame time he was ready to die for the liberty of mankind.

  "A red Don Quixote!" said Castro.

  He remembered having played with the old man's sword, as a child. It wasa Toledo weapon, inlaid with golden arabesques copied from the old swordof the explorer and _conquistador_, Alvaro de Castro, who had beenGovernor of the Indies. But toward the hilt of the blade, where hisancestors had been wont to inscribe an expression of fidelity to theirGod and King, Don Enrique had had engraved: "Long live the Republic!"Without this knightly sword, he refused to take part in a revolution. Hehad carried it from Sicily to Naples, following Garibaldi to dethronethe Bourbons. "To-morrow more revolutionary than to-day!" His companionssoon appeared to him unspeakable reactionaries, and this caused him toseek new doctrines which would fully satisfy his insatiable eagernessfor destruction and innovation. Finally, this descendant of Governorsand Viceroys wound up in the "First International." And the mostextraordinary thing of all was that in his new life he never lost thetraces of his early education, his arrogance and his knightly ways,which caused him to consider the slightest difference of opinion as "anaffair of honor."

  Over a discussion in a committee meeting, he had fought a "comrade"laborer in Paris. No sooner had they crossed swords than the workmanreceived a cut across the head.

  "It is quite just," said the wounded man, wiping away the blood. "TheMarquis, who has been able to learn the use of weapons, ought of courseto beat a mere man of the people."

  Don Enrique turned pale at the irony, and to restore equality, andeliminate his traditional advantages, he raised his sword and gavehimself a terrible cut across the skull, while the witnesses ran forwardto seize him and prevent him from doing it again.

  After accompanying Garibaldi once more, in the War of 1870, fighting thePrussians at Dijon, he was drawn to Paris by the revolutionary movementof the Commune.

  "I think they made him a general," Atilio said. "He must have sufferedheavily in that tragic farce. It is certain that he was executed by thegovernment troops, and no one knows where he is buried."

  Atilio's admiration for his grandfather, whose life had been soromantic, was dampened by the thought of his mother. Poor, an orphan,and forgotten by her relatives, she had been obliged to marry a man oldenough to be her father, and led the wandering life, outside of Spain,that is forced upon the wives of consuls. Atilio was born in Leghorn,and was given the name of his godfather, an old Italian gentleman, whowas a friend of the Spanish Consul. The memory of his grandfather,saddened from time to time the life of his poor, resigned, and devoutmother. In Rome, visiting Spaniards, all persons of conventional ideaswho came to see the Pope, would look askance on learning of her birth:"Oh, so you are the daughter of Enrique de Castro!" And she would seemto shrink, and beg their pardon with her sad, humble eyes.

  "I don't disown my grandfather," Castro added. "I would like to haveknown him. The only thing I blame him for is that he left us so poor;though his forefathers had already done more than he to ruin us."

  On days when Atilio had lost, he was more prone to complain, recallingthe immense estates of the Castros, gained in the conquests in America.

  "To-day there are large cities on the fields given by the king to myforefathers. One of my remote ancestors grazed horses, and built acolonial country house on land where at the present time you will findgardens, monuments, and big hotels. There were hundreds of millions ofsquare yards; at a franc a yard, imagine, Michael! I would be richerthan you, richer than all the millionaires in the world. And I'm only awell-dressed beggar. Good God! Why didn't my ancestors keep their land,instead of devoting themselves to serving the king and the people? Whydidn't they do like any peasant who keeps religiously what has been lefthim by his ancestors?"

  Other evenings, seated in the _loggia_, the Prince listened to Novoa andgazed at the nocturnal scene of sea and sky. There was no light, savethe veiled gleam from the distant drawing-room. The coast was dark. Thesilhouette of Monte Carlo stood out against the starry background,without a single dot of red. There were few street lights in the city,and besides, the glass of those few was painted blue. The lamps on thestairway of the Casino were shrouded like those of a hearse. The Germansubmarine menace kept the whole Principality, as well as the Frenchcoast, in darkness. Only at the entrance to the harbor of Monaco, thetwo octagonal towers kept on their summit a red and a green beacon,which threw out over the water one shifting path of rubies, and anotherof emeralds.

  In the darkness, standing and looking at the stars, Novoa talked aboutthe poetry of space, about distances that defy human calculations. Itwas impossible for Spadoni to follow this talk with the same attentionas the Prince and Castro. What did the so-called tri-colored star matterto him? The millions and millions of leagues that the scientist spoke ofmerely made him yawn; and through an association of ideas, he becameabsorbed in gambling, mentally, imagining that he was winning fiftytimes in succession, doubling each time.

  He wagered a simple five franc piece--the smallest bet allowed in theCasino--and at the end of the twenty-fifth bet he stopped as thoughhorror-struck. He had won more than a hundred and sixty-seven millionfrancs. In only twenty-five minutes! The Casino was closing its doors,declaring the bank broken! But this was not enough to bring him out ofhis dream. The marvellous five franc piece remained on the green clothbeside a mountain of money which kept growing and growing. He mustfinish the fifty bets, always doubling. He continued for five more timesand then stopped. He had already won more than five thousand millionfrancs. They would have to hand over the entire Principality of Monacoto him, and even that would not be enough perhaps to pay the debt. Thethirty-fifth time the simple "napoleon" had become a hundred seventy-onebillions of francs. They wouldn't pay him; he was sure of that. It wouldbe necessary for all the great powers of Europe to ally themselves asthough for a great war, and even then perhaps, he, the pianist, TeofiloSpadoni, would not accept the credit they might offer him.

  He could no longer make the calculations mentally. The twentieth time hehad been obliged to have resource to the pencil which he used in theCasino to note results of the various plays, and to the cards divided incolumns which were distributed by the employees. The back of the cardwas rather narrow for his winnings, which kept growing so tremendouslythat they had reached fantastic sums. He continued his triumphantplaying. At the fortieth winning he stopped. Five million millionfrancs. Decidedly neither Europe nor the entire world would be able topay him. The nations would have to put themselves up for sale, the globewould be put on public auction, the women would all have to sell theirbodies and give him the proceeds; and even so it would be necessary toask him for several thousands of years in which to pay the debt to him,the creditor of the universe, seated on his piano stool as though on athrone.

  But although he was certain that he was being deceived, since no one onearth or heaven could guarantee the bank, he went on playing. There wereonly ten more bets to be made. And when he had made the fiftieth he hada sudden stroke of generosity. In his mind he gave the employees of theCasino thousands, millions, and millions of millions. For himself heonly kept the amount that figured at the head of his winnings, and wroteon his card:

  5,000,000,000,000,000 francs.

  Five thousand billions! For fifty minutes' work, that wasn't bad.

  Suddenly his attention was attracted by the silence in which the Princeand Castro were listening to Novoa, and he fixed his visionary gaze onthe latter, his eyes still dazzled by the golden whirl of the Vision.

  The scientist too was talking about millions of millions, figures whichwords would not express, and was going into detail, repeating dozens ofciphers one after the other. He thought he heard the professor surmisingthe age which the sun would reach in time--here an interminablefigure--the disappearance of the present forms of life, the recession ofthe heavenly body towards an exceedingly remote constellation, and itsfinal extinction and death--here another appalling sum.

  Spadoni smiled disdainfully. T
he sun, the constellation of Hercules, thehundred million years that it would take for the former to reach theearth, the seventeen million years that it would require to lose itsincandescence, and cease furnishing warmth for life on earth, and allthe other calculations of the scientist were as nothing, mere nothing!If he were to put his money on the green table fifty times more, thefigures obtained by astronomy would appear paltry and ridiculous besidethe winnings obtained in an hour and forty minutes. God alone could bethe banker, and pay with stars as though they were money; and who knowsif God himself would be able to withstand the hundredth time the fivefranc piece was wagered, always doubling, and if he would not have todeclare his bank was broken?

  Spadoni remained for some time absorbed in inner contemplation of hisgreatness. Coming out of his revery he became aware of Novoa's voicewhich still sounded a note of mystery, before that dark horizon, dottedabove with the points of light from the stars, and undulating below withthe phosphorescence of the waves.

  The Prince urged him to talk of the sea as the regulator and origin oflife. The pianist heard it said that the sea covers three-fourths of theglobe, and, as it represents a large preponderance over the continents,the latter, though they consider themselves superior, are dominated bythe former, just as governments are obliged to yield to universalsuffrage and respect the strength of majorities. All the greatatmospheric laws are established, not on the lesser surface of the land,which is rough and broken, but on the vast ocean spaces, which allow themolecules freely to obey the mechanical laws of fluids.

  Spadoni touched Castro on the elbow, and tried to tell him in a lowvoice about the unheard-of winnings that he had just made. But Atilio,without turning around, brushed the interrupting hand aside, and went onlistening.

  Novoa was talking about the hot waters which condensed on the globe inthe primordial atmosphere, and had been precipitated on the crust of theearth which was then in formation, dissolving and tearing downeverything in their way on the new-born surface.

  "With the salt that there is in the ocean," Novoa said, "one couldreconstruct the entire African continent."

  The pianist stirred once more in his seat. An Africa made of salt! Whatcould you do with it?

  "Castro, listen to me," he said in a low voice. "I put five francs on acertain bet, fifty times in succession, doubling each time, do youknow?"

  But the latter was not interested, and rejected the piece of cardboardheld out to him.

  Spadoni, offended, shut his eyes, deciding to isolate himself from therest, and not listen to what did not seem to him of any importance. Ifthe scientist was going to talk every evening, he would dispense withthe hospitality of the Prince, and go in search of other friends.

  Suddenly, a word caught his ear and drew him from his shell, causing himto open his eyes. The Professor was talking about the gold that had beenwashed away by the boiling rains at the creation of the globe, and wasstill present in solution in the sea.

  "There are only a few milligrams in each ton of water, but with all thatthere is in the ocean one could form a heap so immense, that, if it weredivided equally among the thousand five hundred million inhabitants ofthe earth, we would each get an eighty-five thousand pound ingot, orsome forty tons of gold."

  The pianist craned his neck in amazement. What was the Professor saying?

  "And," Novoa continued, "according to the value of gold before the war,each person's ingot would represent some hundred and twenty millionfrancs."

  The silence was broken by a whistling sound. Castro turned his head,thinking that Spadoni was snoring. Observing the pianist's staring eyes,he realized that this was a sigh, of real emotion, an exclamation ofsurprise.

  "I'll give my share for a hundred thousand francs in bank-notes," hesaid in solemn tones.

  And as the others laughed, he remained with his eyes fixed on Novoa. Thesea! Who would have thought that the sea!... That scientist knew a greatdeal; and as for himself, with sudden awe and respect, he determinedthat hereafter he would always listen to him.

  * * * * *

  One night, Atilio and the Prince were eating alone. On leaving theCasino, the pianist had gone off to Nice with some English friends ofhis, who played poker in their landau. Novoa had been invited to dinewith a colleague from the Museum and would not be back until midnight.

  Michael was thinking of his impressions of that afternoon. He had goneto the Casino to attend a classical concert, determined to face theobsequious curiosity of the employees, and take the risk of runningacross former friends. From the outer stairway to the door of thetheater he had been obliged to reply to the series of deep bows from thevarious functionaries, some with military caps and gold buttons, othersin solemn frock coats, stiff and dignified like lawyers in a play. Thepeople who were passing through the portico noticed him immediately."Prince Lubimoff!" They all remembered his yacht, his adventures, andhis parties, and repeated his name like the glorious echo of aresurrected past. He had been obliged to hurry through the groups at topspeed, with a vague stare, feigning absentmindedness, so as not to seecertain well-known smiles, and certain inviting faces which evoked sweetvisions of by-gone days.

  In the auditorium he looked for a seat where he would be entirelyinconspicuous, some corner divan, close to the wall; but even there hewas annoyed by the curiosity of the crowd. Around the leader of theorchestra were the most famous musicians, those who prided themselves onthe title of "Soloists to His Most Serene Highness the Prince ofMonaco." Some of them had sailed with Prince Michael on his yacht, asmembers of the orchestra. During a pause in the music, the first violin,in looking around the room to see if he could recognize any of hisadmirers, discovered Lubimoff, and communicated his surprise at once tothe other soloists. They all smiled in his direction, and showed ontheir faces that they were dedicating to him alone the music which wasrising from their instruments. Finally the public began to notice thegentleman who was half hidden, and who was gradually attracting theattention of the entire orchestra.

  When the concert was over Lubimoff left hurriedly, afraid of beingstopped by certain former women friends whom he had observed in theaudience. He crossed the portico brusquely, elbowing his way through thecrowd that barred the way. Here his attention was caught by a person ofmajestic bearing and exclusive showy appearance, with a derby of smoothgray silk, a honey colored overcoat with velvet sleeves of the sameshade, and white gloves and shoes. His gray side-whiskers joined hismustache; his hair was parted away down to his neck, and over his earsstrayed two locks of hair, cut short and dyed and shining withcosmetics.

  "I thought it was a Russian general or some Austrian of note dressed forwinter, with an elegance worthy of the Riviera, and I find it's you, mydear Colonel. I hadn't seen you outside of Villa Sirena before."

  Toledo blushed, not knowing whether to feel proud or annoyed, at thesewords.

  "Your Excellency, I always liked to dress well, and...."

  "Who was the lady you were talking with?"

  "It was the Infanta. She was telling me that she had lost seven thousandfrancs that were sent to her from Italy, and that she hasn't the moneyto pay her living expenses, and...."

  "The tall, thin one, with the big cow-boy hat? No, not that one. I wasasking you about the other."

  He had only seen "the other" from behind, but she had attracted hisattention for the moment because of her svelte figure and her queenlycarriage.

  "Your Excellency," said Don Marcos, hesitatingly, "that was the Duchessde Delille."

  There was a moment's silence, and as though the Prince had caught himdoing something wrong, that he must apologize for, he hastened to add:

  "She is very kind to the Infanta. She gives her children clothes, and Ithink she even lends her dresses. The daughter of a King! Thegrand-daughter of San Fernando! I am an old legitimist soldier, and theleast I can do is be grateful that...."

  Michael cut his excuses short with a gesture. That was enough: he didnot want to hear any more. And he turned to Cast
ro. He had seen him too,near the entrance to the Casino, talking to another lady.

  "And I saw you, too," said Atilio, "but you were in such a rush, goingalong with your head down, making your way like a mad bull. Do you wantto know who the lady is? Does she interest you?"

  Lubimoff shrugged his shoulders; but his indifference was feigned. As amatter of fact she had interested him, although slightly. The unknownwoman was tall and blond, with an air of lithe strength, with thefreedom of movement of a gymnast or an amazon.

  "Well, that's the _'Generala_,'" Castro continued without observing thathis friend was not paying much heed. "The title of '_Generala_' isn't tobe taken seriously. It's a pet name. I think the Duchess invented it,for I warn you the two are very good friends. She's a 'General' in thesame way that certain other people are Colonels."

  Don Marcos overlooked this bit of irony. Atilio was evidently in a badhumor that evening. His nerves were on edge, and he seemed ready to snapat any one. He must have lost in the gambling.

  "They call her the 'Generala' because of her somewhat masculinecharacter, and the brusque way she has of treating people at times. Anextraordinary woman! A real amazon! She shoots, does gymnastics, swimsin the rivers in mid-winter, and what's more she has a voice like thesighing of the breeze, and looks as though she were going to faint atthe least emotion, like a timid girl. Do you want to know who she is?Her name is Clorinda, a name of ancient poetry, or ancient comedy. Ialways call her Dona Clorinda; it seems as though it would bedisrespectful if I didn't, in spite of the fact that she is still young.Perhaps two or three years younger than her friend Alicia. The two hateeach other, and they can't live apart. One week each month they clash,call each other names, and tell the most horrible tales about eachother; then they look each other up; 'How are you, my dear?' 'Are youangry with me, angel?'"

  The Prince smiled at Atilio's imitation of the words and gestures of thetwo ladies.

  "Clorinda is an American," Castro continued, "but from South America,from a little Republic where her grandfathers and great-grandfatherswere Presidents, and fighters, and fathers of their country. Her titleof 'Generala' has a certain basis. Over there in her native land theyadmire her for her beauty and for the great sensation she is supposed tohave caused in Europe. At a distance, you see, everything is changed andseems much greater. Her picture is public property, and figures on everypackage of coffee, and every advertising prospectus in the country. Sheis a national beauty; and when she gets old, there will always be a spotin the world where she will be considered eternally youthful. She gotmarried in Paris to a young Frenchman, a dreamer, rather ill withtuberculosis. That was the very reason why the 'Generala' loved him. Ifshe had married a strong, fiery sort of man, they would have killed eachother in a few days. She is a widow now. I don't think she is very rich;the war must have diminished her income, but she has enough to livecomfortably. I even imagine she must suffer fewer hardships than doesthe Delille woman. She is an exceedingly well-balanced person."

  He remained silent for a moment.

  "But she has such queer ideas! She is so used to dominating! I met herin Biarritz some years ago. I have seen her here often in the gamingrooms; we have bowed to each other and had a few conversations which didnot amount to much. When a woman is placing her stakes she doesn't allowcompliments that might distract her attention. To-day is the first timethat I have talked with her at any length. Do you know what she askedme, the very first thing? Why I wasn't in the war. It didn't make anydifference when I told her that I'm neutral, and that the war doesn'tinterest me. 'If I were a man, I would be a soldier,' she said. And ifyou had only seen the look she gave when she said it!"

  Lubimoff smiled a bit scornfully at the woman's words.

  "In her opinion," Castro went on saying, "every man ought to work atsomething, produce something, be a hero. She adored her poor husband,gentle as a sick lamb, because he painted a few pale, washed-outpictures, and had been rewarded in some slight degree at variousexpositions. Men like you and me, in her eyes, are a variety of 'supers'hired to give life to the drawing-rooms, casinos, and bathing resorts,to keep the conversation going, and be nice to the ladies; but we don'tinterest her. She told me so this afternoon once again."

  "Does her opinion bother you?" asked the Prince.

  Atilio paused for a moment, as though to weigh his words beforereplying.

  "Yes, it does bother me," he resolutely answered at last. "Why should Ideny it? That woman interests me. When I don't see her, I forget allabout her. Months and years have gone by without my giving her athought. But as soon as I meet her she dominates me.... I want her. Iknow I can't come up to you in such matters, but I've had successfullove affairs too. But she is so different from the others! Besides,there's the joy in conquering, the need of dominating, that you find atthe bottom of all our amorous desires! Every time we talk together, andshe makes quite evident, with her bird-like voice and her smile ofcompassion, the distance that separates us, I come away sad, or rather,discouraged, as though I had to climb a great height, of which I wouldnever reach the top, no matter how hard I tried. To-day I ought to behappy; it has been months since I've had an afternoon like this. I'veplayed, and look ... look! Seventeen thousand francs!"

  He had taken from his inner pocket a bundle of blue bank-notes, throwingit on the table with a certain fury.

  "I succeeded in winning as high as twenty-six thousand. If there isanything in the saying, 'Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,' I was aslucky as a despairing lover or a deceived husband. And yet, I'm nothappy."

  The Prince smiled again, as though a self-evident truth had just beencompletely demonstrated. Woman! That Clorinda, that devil of a"Generala," was a real "woman." With a few short minutes of conversationonly, she had turned Castro topsy-turvy, and perhaps would end bybreaking up the peaceful life--without exciting pleasures but withoutdesperate sorrows as well--that the guests at Villa Sirena were leading.

  "And you, Atilio," he said in a reproachful voice, "are moved by thatsmooth-voiced virago. You believe in love like a school-boy."

  Castro replied in a cold, aggressive tone. The Prince might say whateverhe liked about him; but to call her a virago!... What right had he?Nevertheless he hid the real cause of his annoyance, pretending to behurt by the allusion to his credulity.

  "I don't believe in anything; I'm more skeptical than you perhaps. Iknow that everything about us is false, and conventional--all a matterof lies that we accept because they are necessary to us for the moment.You love music and painting as though they were something divine andeternal. Very well; if the structure of our ears were to be modified alittle, the symphonies of Beethoven would be a regular din; if thefunctioning of our retinas were to change, we would have to burn all thefamous pictures, because they would seem like so many canvases dirtiedby a child's play; if our brains were to be modified, all the poets andthinkers would become childish idiots for us. No, I don't believe inanything," he insisted angrily. "In order to live and understand oneanother, we have to agree upon a high and a low, a left and a right; buteven that is a lie, since we live in the infinite which has no limits.Everything we consider fundamental is simply a matter of lines that havebeen laid down on the canvas of life to mark off our variousconceptions."

  The Prince shrugged his shoulders, giving him a look of surprise. Whyall this, apropos of a woman?

  "Everything is a lie," Castro went on; "but that is no reason why Ishould live like a stone or a tree. I need sweet falsehoods to sing mymind to sleep until the hour of my death. Illusions are a lie, but Iwant them near me; hope is another lie, but I want it to walk beforeme. I don't believe in love, since I don't believe in anything.Everything you say against it I have known for years; but should I giveit a kick if it comes my way, and wants to go with me? Do you know anydream that fills the emptiness of our lives better--even though it lastsonly a short time?"

  Michael greeted his friend's enthusiasm with a sardonic gesture.

  "Do you know why I look younger than I am?" Atilio
continued, more andmore excitedly. "Do you know I shall be young when others of my own agehave become old men? I pretend to be ironical. As a matter of fact I'm askeptic. But I have a secret, the secret of eternal youth, which I keepto myself. Let me tell you what it is. I have discovered that thegreatest wisdom in life, the most important thing, is to 'while away thetime'; and I fill the emptiness that every man carries inside him withan orchestra; the orchestra of my illusions. The great thing is that itplay all the time, that the music rack never be empty; once one piece isplayed, another must take its place. At times it is a symphony of love.Mine have been beautiful but brief. For that reason I have replaced themwith another which is endless--that of ambition and the desire for gain,whose orbits are infinite like those of the stars in the heavens, andlike the possible combinations of cards. I gamble. In the whirl of theroulette wheel I see a castle that may be mine, a more sumptuous castlethan any in existence; a finer yacht than the one you used to have;endless _fetes_. Through a pack of cards I can contemplate things moremagnificent than were dreamed of by the Persian story-tellers. Itssuites are so many piles of precious gems. Most of the time I lose, andthe orchestra plays an accompaniment on muted strings, with a funeralmarch of wondrous wild sadness and beauty; but after a few measures,the march becomes a hymn of triumph, the dawning of a new day, theresurrection of hope."

  And now there was a look of pity in the eyes of the Prince. "He is mad,"it seemed to say.

  "This afternoon," Castro continued, "my orchestra made me acquaintedwith a new symphony, something I had never heard before. While I waswinning money I did not think a single time about myself, nor aboutpalaces, nor yachts, nor parties. I was thinking only of the 'Generala,'and thinking of her with real hate, wanting to get revenge. I wanted towin a hundred thousand francs--who knows, I may win it to-morrow--andspend the whole hundred thousand on a pearl necklace, on leaving theCasino, and send it to her anonymously with something like this: 'As atribute of dislike from a worthless, miserable man.'"

  A burst of laughter from the Prince woke the Colonel with a start. As agood early riser, the latter had gone to sleep in his chair. Observingthat His Excellency was not paying any attention to him, he slipped outof the Hall, as though he had something of more importance to attend tothan the conversation of the two friends who seemed to ignore hispresence.

  "But what do you find in love?" Michael asked. "For I think you knowwhat love really is. All the illusions of adolescence, and all theidealism of poetry, are merely winding paths which lead to the same, theonly goal; the physical act. And aren't you tired of that? Aren't younever daunted by the monotony of it?"

  There was a certain gloomy intonation in the Prince's voice, as thoughhe were lamenting over the ruin of all his own life. He had met hundredsof women of the sort that cause a sudden burst of mute desire as theypass. Feminine resistance was something unknown to him. More than that:women had sought him, coming half-way of their own free will, pursuinghim with no regard for the conventions and modesty, obliging him, as amatter of masculine pride, to overtax his powers with a prodigality thatmade pleasure almost painful. And they were all alike! He understood themirage of illusion in the things that one admires from afar, and has nohope of obtaining. It is our curiosity for what is hidden, the desirewhich is aroused by an obstacle, the inner fancies inspired by clothes,ornaments, everything which covers the feminine body, giving to itssameness the charm of a mystery which is ever renewed. As for him, alas,it was as though they all went nude. Nothing could stimulate hisinterest; it was all too familiar.

  "Besides," and here his voice grew quieter, "I wouldn't confess it toany one else; but love and women make me think of the miserableness ofhuman life, the inevitable end, death. Since I've been freed from theirfalse seductions, I feel gayer, more sure of myself; I enjoy morefrankly the passing moment. I don't want to talk to you about the shameof those bodies which we claim to be divine. Women are less wholesomethan men. It was Nature's will. But that isn't what makes me flee fromthem."

  He was silent for a moment, but then added shortly after:

  "Whenever I am near a woman I can't help but see the image of death.When I caress her silky hair, I suddenly seem to feel a smooth, hardyellow skull, like those one sees protruding from the ground inabandoned cemeteries. A kiss on her mouth, or a nibble at her chin,rouses in me a vision of the bony jaw with its teeth, not so differentfrom those of the anthropoids in the museums. Those eyes will fade; thatnose with its graceful curves and rosy quivering nostrils will dissolvelikewise; the only solid and permanent parts are the black sockets, andthe grotesque grin of the skull, with its flattened nose. Those swellingbreasts are nothing more than false padding to hide the ghastly cage ofthe ribs; those legs, which seem to us such wonderful columns, arestringy flesh and water that will waste away, leaving bare two longcalcareous pipe-stems. We imagine we are adoring supreme beauty, and weare embracing a skeleton. The image of death fills us with horror, andevery woman carries one within her, and compels us to worship it."

  Now it was Castro's turn to gaze in astonishment. His eyes, fixed on thePrince, seemed to say: "He is mad."

  "The trouble with you, Michael, is that you've over-enjoyed," he saidafter a long pause. "You make me think of the people who, when they sitdown to the table, hide their lack of appetite with nausea. The mostsucculent meat for them suggests the horrors of the slaughter house.Bread reminds them of the hands that kneaded it, and wine calls up apicture of feet reeking with juice in the vintage-troughs. But just lettheir senses awaken, and their physical needs reassert themselves, andthey see everything in a different light, as though the sun had justrisen, and they find an indescribable charm in the very things thatdisgusted them. What difference is it to me if a woman has a skeletoninside? I have one too, and that doesn't prevent me from taking a greatdeal of joy in the pleasures of life, and considering love as the mostinteresting of all those pleasures."

  Castro laughed with affectionate compassion as he looked at his friend.

  "Let me say it again, you are satiated; you have the lack of appetiteand the gloomy vision of a person suffering from a painful indigestion.You are still too young for this debility to last. You will recover.Your appetite will come back. I hope you won't find the table setexactly as in the past, that you will be swept off your feet by someobstacle, in other words, that unrequital will make you suffer; and then... well, just wait till then!"