BRENTANO'S HISPANO -AMERICAN SERIES 
 
 THE MAN 
 OF GOLD 
 
 R. BLANCO -FOMBONA 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 A.W.Sievers 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PQ8549.B64H771920 
 
 The man of gold, 
 
 3 1924 020 168 120 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924020168120 
 
THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 BY 
 
 RUFINO BLANCO FOMBONA 
 
 AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION OF THE NOTED VENEZUELAN NOVEL 
 "EL HOMBRB DB OHO" 
 
 BY 
 
 ISAAC GOLDBERG 
 
 NEW YORK 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
 PUBLISHERS , 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 saturates the pages of Benvenuto, with whom his 
 friends have often compared him. Such a tale 
 would include youthful student days of consular 
 service in Philadelphia, ardent political struggles, 
 prison sentences, travels in the wilds of South 
 America as well as amidst the culture of Spain, 
 France, HoUand, Russia; it would hold many a love 
 idyll, at least one murder in self-defence, duels, 
 important publishing ventures,_and would reveal, 
 circa 1920, a senor residing in Madrid, conducting 
 a vast literary and historical propaganda (in the best 
 sense of the word) on behalf of Spanish America 
 and planning a few novels to follow up his El 
 Hombre de Hierro and the book here presented to 
 the English-reading public, El Hombre de Oro. 
 
 Up to the present time the works of Blanco- 
 ^ombona include five books of verse, three of fiction, 
 two of literary criticism, three or four of history 
 and sociology, three miscellaneous productions 
 (among them the exquisite Mas alia de los hori- 
 zontes — Beyond the Horizons — and the kaleido- 
 scopic La Idmpara de Aladino — Aladdin's Lamp) — 
 and numerous critical prefaces scattered here and 
 there. The man is in everything he has written, but 
 we should be on guard lest his emphasis upon action 
 dulls our appreciation of his more delicate qualities. 
 For there is a delicate side to Blanco-Fombona, — 
 the poet of the Pequena Opera lirica whom Ruben 
 Dario praised so generously, — the novelist who, in 
 "The Man of Gold," could draw so succinct, yet 
 appealing a picture of the three Agualonga sisters 
 in their ancient mansion. His short, but character- 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 istic foreword to his Cancionero del amor infeliz — 
 Songbook of Unhappy Love — is an excellent as 
 weU as recent commentary upon his dualistic nature. 
 Belligerently he defends his right to publish a 
 volume of love poems. And there you have the 
 complete man, — fighting for the right to be tender! 
 It is such a strange conjunction of personal forces 
 that accounts, perhaps, for the old strain and the 
 new in our author. He has been likened to a Ben- 
 venuto, we have seen, yet in his political and econ- 
 omic ideals he is in advance of his time. He re- 
 pudiates the labels of any "ism," and heralds a sort 
 of aristodemocracy in which Karl Marx and 
 Nietzsche will shake hands, with Blanco-Fombona 
 in the middle, perhaps, to insure harmony. Quite 
 certain it is, at any rate, that his coUectivist views 
 proceed as much from the one as do his individual- 
 istic attitudes from the other; these men are, how- 
 ever, brothers who preceded him rather than parents 
 who dictate. 
 
 There is in this spirited Venezuelan, then, a pe- 
 culiarly contemporary blend of the masculine and 
 the feminine, of the past and present, the realistic 
 and the idealistic. He is one of the foremost Span- 
 ish-American modernistas, and in his poetry is a 
 close associate of the moody, introspective Mexicaii, 
 Gutierrez Najera, — the brilliant, neurotic Colom- 
 bian, Jose Asuncion SUva, — the no less neurotic 
 Cuban, Julian del Casal, — and that Nicaraguan 
 genius, Ruben Dario, whose home was the world. 
 He came into prominence with a number of poets 
 (Ricardo Jaimes Freyre of Bolivia, Balbino Davalos 
 of Mexico, Leopoldo Diaz of Argentina) to whose 
 
viu INTRODUCTION 
 
 names were very soon joined those of Herrera Reissig 
 of Uruguay, Guillermo Valencia of Colombia, as well 
 as the Machado brothers, Villaespesa, Carrere and 
 others in Spain. He witnessed, then, the rise and the 
 successive transformations of that Spanish-Ameri- 
 can renaissance so inexpressively termed Modernism, 
 
 — a renaissance inspired chiefly by the French sym- 
 bolists and decadents, and rooted in a vibrant con- 
 temporaneity bent upon shaking loose the shackles 
 of empty rhetoric and antiquated thought. 
 
 As regards his personal aesthetics, he has written 
 of it as foUows, in the important, scorching Intro- 
 duction to his Cantos de la prision y del destierro 
 (Songs of Imprisonment and Exile) : 
 
 "My aesthetics may be reduced to a single canon, 
 viz.: lacking imagination to invent and not being 
 base enough to imitate, I transcribe, now in prose, 
 now in verse, in the simplest, most personal manner 
 at my command, and in all sincerity, that which I 
 think, feel, see. And I laugh at all the rest." 
 
 One who knows his work realizes how adequately 
 that canon is stated. 
 
 In Mas alia de los horizontes there is a short prose 
 poem entitled "It is Ciarnival Time." It was written 
 at least seventeen years ago, but it so illustrates the 
 literary (and personal) dualism of the author — 
 which is, moreover, discernible in the present novel 
 
 — that I translate it from the original edition. 
 
 It is carnival time. 
 
 The tvnlight is soft. A golden air kindles 
 the blue flame, the dark pupils of all eyes. 
 Tresses float about. The rose and lilac- 
 
INTRODUCTION h 
 
 hued gowns .flutter dazzlingly. In shimng 
 calashes of yellow, black and red, the belles, 
 with their pink shoulders, their marble 
 throats, sitting amidst white camellias and 
 purple petunias, themselves seem flowers. 
 
 It is carnival time. 
 
 The bells tinkle; the streamers fly like 
 vnnged vipers. From the maidens' mouths 
 — crimson slits in the powdered whiteness 
 of their faces — issue chatter, laughter, 
 kisses. 
 
 It is carnival time. 
 
 The bacchantes gird on roses; the couples 
 weave pagan idylls; love flies, like the doves 
 of Venus, after victorious beauty; the smile 
 is triumphant. 
 
 Ancient grief, — whither has it gone? 
 
 Ah! That bodice is the blue or white 
 case of sorrows, those costly jewels of the 
 heart; the duchess's hands, those hands 
 filled with roses, have stripped the petals of 
 illusions; the picturesque domino, like a 
 blue book containing golden stories, en- 
 closes a tearful tale. 
 
 That joy is not free. That song is almost 
 a sob. That merriment is morbid. Other- 
 wise, why does it wear a mask? What is 
 the good of all this masked pleasure? * 
 
 It is rooted in Blanco-Fombona's nature to be 
 deeply sensitive to the poetry of things, yet to strip 
 
 * Under the title Camaval this same theme is given verse 
 treatment in Pequena Opera lirica, page 121 of the 1919 Madrid 
 edition. (Issued together with the Trovadores y Trovas.) 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 off their masks. Such a bit of mask-stripping, such 
 a spell of poetizing, he accomplishes in The Man 
 of Gold, as in his other work. And, let me hasten to 
 add, he does this in his own sweets — and bitter — 
 way, without our common vice of moralizing on the 
 one hand, nor our equally common vice of senti- 
 mentalizing on the other,, So much does he love 
 genuineness, that he treats it with fondness even 
 when (as in the case of the Agualonga sisters of 
 this bbdk) it characterizes the protagonists of a 
 dying world-philosophy. And only because he loves 
 his country so much does he tear the mask so merci- 
 lessly from the face of its rulers. In The Man of 
 Gold there are the author's stinging irony, his 
 withering caricature, his intense continental patriot- 
 ism, his fearless advocacy of a great cause. His 
 treatment is concise, and even his seeniingly digres- 
 sive paragraphs upon Venezuelan history are artis- 
 tically justified, for they instill a stronger sense of 
 the AguaJongas' personal background and hence 
 make one feel all the more poignantly the contrast 
 between these drifting survivors of the past and the 
 unworthy Olgas, Ratas, Chicharras and Irurtias 
 who follow them. Recall that Blanco-Fombbna, in 
 his own words, lacks "the imagination to invent." 
 By that same token much of his work is drawn from 
 the life. This is especially true of The Man of 
 Gold, and to those who are curious about such 
 things I suggest the perusal of two interesting docu- 
 ments: the introduction to the Madrid edition of El 
 Hombre de Oro, and, particularly, the introduction 
 to the Songs of Imprisonment and Exile (Paris, 
 1911), where they may trace some persons and 
 events of the book. 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 As a novelist, Blanco-Fombona takes his place 
 among an earnest few in Spanish America, where 
 the really modern novel has made but halting prog- 
 ress, and where only now is it beginning to show 
 indications of a genuine, continuous, autochthonous 
 product. As early as his first fuU effort, Trovadores 
 y trovas, Caracas, 1899, that exquisite styhst and 
 fine novelist Manuel Dia^ Rodriguez noted in 
 Blanco-Fombona a current of sadness that ran 
 through aU his works, and added these significant 
 words: "The most immediate cause of his sadness 
 is perhaps the lack of surroundings, among us, for 
 an artist's soul." Even so, anno Domini 1920, has 
 our own brilliant critic. Van Wyck Brooks, related 
 Mark Twain's pessimism to such a lack in our na- 
 tion.* . Blanco-Fombona, however, is a born fighter, 
 which the glorious creator of Hucldeberry Finn was 
 not, and hence he has steadily fought his environ- 
 ment, as he is doing to this day. 
 
 Among the foreign critics who have praised the 
 fiction of Blanco-Fombona are Henri Barbusse (who 
 as far back as the appearance of the Venezuelan's 
 short stories in a French version, 1903, recognized 
 the young man's gifts), — Jose Verissimo, the per- 
 spicacious Brazilian who was hardly noted for in- 
 dulgence, — Gomez de Baquero, who writes such 
 eminently readable things under the pseudonym 
 Andrenio, — that huntsman of degeneration, Max 
 Nordau, who compliments the author of El Hombre 
 de Hierro for his Balzac-like scenes and personages, 
 — the delicate Gregorio Martinez Sierra, whose own 
 
 *The Ordeal of Mark Twain, by Van Wyck Brooks. New 
 York, 1920. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 style is so different from that of the restless Rufino, 
 — and the well-known Brazilian diplomat and 
 sociologist, Oliveira Lima. 
 
 For such a book and such a writer as this there 
 should exist a public in the United States, — that 
 slowly growing, eclectic public which is sickening of 
 the native Sunday-school fare being forced upon it 
 by the impertinent intrusions of self-appointed 
 moral censors, — of our domestic authors' unwill- 
 ingness to face the facts of life broadly 
 and honestly, — their incapability of seeing hfe 
 steadily and whole. Not that we do not 
 possess the artists here, — the native sap and vigor. 
 But the literary environment? The public? The 
 professional pundits? The Puritanic inhibitions? 
 
 However, Blanco-Fombona, even after the pic- 
 ture of Venezuela that he presents in this book, 
 courageously affirms his confidence in that nation. 
 And whatever may be said of certain aspects of 
 United States life, — have we not our Irurtias, our 
 Chicharras, our Olgas, our Ratas? — I am filled with 
 a confidence no less deeply rooted. As poor 
 Matamoros, the native healer of this book says, 
 under different circumstances, "We must give Time 
 time."* 
 
 Isaac Goldberg 
 
 EoxBURY, Mass. 
 July, 1920. 
 
 * For a much longer study of Blanco-Fombona's labors, see 
 my Studies in Spanish-American Literature, pp. 307 to 359. 
 
THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 I 
 
 WHEREIN APPEARS CIRILO MATAMOROS 
 
 IT is Sunday — a Sunday in June. The eleven 
 o'clock sun falls torrid and golden upon the red 
 roofs of the city, flashes back from the walls of the 
 houses, which are painted here a pale green, there a 
 dark ochre, yonder an indecisive sienna, now a dull 
 blue, now a delicate orange, and is reflected from 
 the pavement, striking grayish blue glints from the 
 asphalt. 
 
 The straight long thoroughfare, called East 
 Avenue, radiates joy. 
 
 A himdred groups of elegant maidens dressed in 
 bright, cheerful colors are chatting as they parade 
 along. The women converse in a loud voice among 
 themselves or with the men who accompany them. 
 They have just come from the last mass and are 
 taking a walk before returning home. Here and 
 there the portly bulk of a mother trails its burden 
 of fifty years after a group of youngsters. Loving 
 couples, hastening or retarding their gait, manage to 
 be left alone beneath the ample golden or purple 
 canopy of an open parasol. From time to time some 
 hurrying sweetheart glides up or down the street, 
 easily detected from the bunch of Sanchorquiz pinks, 
 
 1 
 
2 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Malabar jessamine, Maria-Enriqueta roses or white 
 AvUa violets that he is carrying to his chosen one. 
 
 A row of victorias down the street is bound for the 
 San Bernardino diamond-, where the final game of 
 baseball is to be played. 
 
 Another file of carriages is rolling up-street from 
 the Central Railroad Station, until it breaks up and 
 disappears in the wealthy sections of Alta-Gracia 
 and las Mercedes. 
 
 Behind the bars of some windows are clustered 
 women, eager to see and to be seen; at other win- 
 dows beardless suitors are paying court to fifteen- 
 year-old sweethearts. From one house or another, 
 from between the iron banisters, sounds a snatch of 
 a Creole waltz or some Germanic lyric plaint. 
 
 A cook who is late scurries along to her kitchen, 
 tottering under the weight of her basket of pur- 
 chases, over whose edges peer the red heads of the 
 radishes, or the green, refreshing leaves of cabbage 
 and lettuce. 
 
 At the foot of the Avenue, where the city proper 
 may be said to end and the environs begin, seeming 
 like an invasion of the countryside by audacious cot- 
 tages, there appeared a coimtryman in Sunday 
 clothes — a gentleman mounted upon a nag with 
 neither mane nor flesh. 
 
 That horseman was Cirilo Matamoros, a grocer 
 and a country-doctor of Chacao — a queer fellow as 
 they called him in those parts, known by the rural 
 folk in a radius of several leagues. 
 
 He was short, corpulent, and in his forties; his 
 insignificant figure gave no indication of how deeply 
 versed he was in campestral science. 
 
CIRILO MATAMOROS 3 
 
 The son of a Canary islander and of an Indian 
 mother, CirUo Matamoros, a brown-skinned, almost 
 beardless mestizo (for a very sparse mustache dark- 
 ened his upper lip) had, on the other hand, a ver- 
 itable forest of bristles for eyebrows. The hirsute 
 bar of bristles that rose from his countenance shaded 
 Cirilo's beady eyes, imparting a sullen expression to 
 his features. 
 
 This Sunday he wore trousers, a vest of black 
 cloth and a coat of white drill. He had donned a 
 wide-brimmed felt hat of coflfee-and-milk color, the 
 front of which was bent down to keep the noon-day 
 sun out of his eyes. He wore coarse, stout, hob- 
 nailed calf brodkins. Upon the black vest, against 
 Cirilo's paunch, bounced a thick, resonant, silver 
 chain, to which was attached his watch, hkewise of 
 silver. 
 
 His truculent aspect — the deceiving mask of a 
 most kindly nature^ — was darkened by an appar- 
 ently hostile, classic silence whenever it was a matter 
 of anything else than expounding the virtues of 
 herbs and roots or discoursing upon the many cures 
 he had realized by applying this and that root €*■ 
 such and such a plant. Then his prattle would run 
 like flowing cano. The change was incredible. 
 
 Cirilo Matanaoros was not one of those black 
 sorcerers with a red cloth over his whitish loins, who 
 prescribed prayers and fantastic remedies; nor was 
 he a swindler intent only upon vile gain, but 
 rather a self-denying, voluntary servant of suf- 
 fering humanity — an empiric of herbal medicine, 
 thoroughly convinced of the efiicacy of creole phar- 
 maceutics. 
 
4 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The owner of a pulperia^ and the possessor of a 
 few parcels of plow-land, he lived upon the income 
 from his dram-shop and his small holdings. As for 
 "medicine," he practised for pleasure. Medicine 
 was his drink — his only vice. At times he would 
 abandon his cattle and his counter, ,his land and his 
 shop, to travel for leagues and leagues upon his 
 bony nag for the purpose of administering beverages 
 and potions, or applying emollients and plasters to 
 some feverish peon or e^^erseer. 
 
 He used to be summoned even to Caracas. 
 Matamoros would publish that fact proudly. "They 
 often send for me from Caracas." Whereupon there 
 would follow the enumeration of his successes in the 
 capital. So-and-so's coachman; a cobbler of San 
 Juan; two Italian umbrella-makers from The 
 Genoese Umbrella-Shop, and so on at great length. 
 
 That very Sunday, indeed, he was on his way to 
 Caracas, whither he had been summoned by tele- 
 phone on Saturday night. 
 
 It was none other than don Camilo Irurtia who 
 had now resorted to the country-doctor's skill — a 
 wealthy fellow of Caracas known for his niggardli- 
 ness — an old Harpagon with bursting coffers. 
 
 The pulperia was thronged with drinkers of 
 amargo — a delicious brandy flavored with mint and 
 grape-fruit rind — when with ill-concealed, or rather 
 flaunting pride, Cirilo informed his customers that 
 he would have to close the place and thrust them all 
 into the street. He was going to Caracas. He had 
 been called to Caracas to attend to a case of illness. 
 And as he conveyed this bit of news, Matamoros was 
 
 ^ A sort of country groceiy store. 
 
CIRILO MATAMOROS Si 
 
 not unaware that soon it would speed from coffee 
 plantation to coffee plantation, from hacienda to 
 hacienda, from ranch to ranch. 
 
 The almost superstitious prestige that Cirilo 
 Matamoros enjoyed as a healer would be greatly 
 strengthened by this new token of homage from 
 the capital. 
 
 When Cirilo told the reason for closing the doors 
 of his shop before the usual time, one of the amargo 
 drinkers asked him,: 
 
 "And who is it that's calling you to Caracas, 
 Cirilo?" 
 
 Matamoros's reply was boastful 
 
 "Don Camilo Irurtia, a capitalist whom I know." 
 
 Don Camilo Irurtia? None of the peons or over- 
 seers present had ever heard that name. 
 
 "He'll certainly pay you well," ventured another 
 countryman, turning to Cirilo. 
 
 Matamoros confessed not a word about his hav- 
 ing preAdously treated Irurtia without having re- 
 ceived a centimo. 
 
 "I ask no pay from him or anybody else," replied 
 the doctor spiritedly. "Medicine should be prac- 
 tised without any hope of gain — through love of 
 humanity and the science itself. There are other 
 ways of making money. If I were the government 
 I'd pass a law prohibiting physicians from taking 
 fees. In that way there would be less doctors; and 
 they'd leave the matter of curing disease to us fel- 
 lows who have a gift for it." 
 
 "But he'll pay you something just the same, if 
 you cure him — this senor Irurtia," insisted the 
 peon, "seeing that he is a rich man and that it's the 
 custom in Caracas to pay doctors." 
 
6 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "I repeat that I ask money of nobody; my ser- 
 vices are at the command of anybody who needs 
 them and has confidence in them." 
 
 Although the country-doctor knew very well that 
 Irurtia would not even give him thanks, he added, 
 for the sake of appearances : 
 
 "I don't say that he won't make me some little 
 gift, as often happens with persons that I cure; but 
 I ask nothing." 
 
 At this juncture there entered another customer, 
 a lad from Caracas who had recently come to 
 Chacao; he was a servant in one of the neighboring 
 haciendas. 
 
 In a jiffy he had been told the news. Matamaros 
 was going to Caracas, having been summoned by 
 don Camilo Irurtia. The domestic knew Irurtia, 
 by reputation and even by sight. 
 
 "Don Camilo Irurtia? A shrewd creature! A 
 bony, lanky old fellow. Death take him! He's a 
 devil that lives on usury. He doesn't spit out for 
 fear the earth will suck it in. There's not another 
 miser like him." 
 
 Then the domestic began to jest with Matamaros : 
 
 "And that's the sort of people that call you to 
 Caracas? Fine customers! You've got good reason 
 to be content. Irurtia is a shameless old curmud- 
 geon that sends for you because he knows your 
 weakness and he's too stingy to pay for a doctor." 
 
 "I ask no money." 
 
 "And even if you did, you wouldn't get it from 
 Irurtia. Catch him giving anything to anybody, — 
 the old tight-fist. The best thing you can do 
 is kill him with those herbs of yours. He won't be 
 
CIRILO MATAMOROS 7 
 
 the first victim of your filthy liquids. And besides, 
 some heir will pay you for the favor." 
 
 Matamoros shrugged his shoulders; he was 
 silent, disdainful, philosophical. The servant, a few 
 minutes later, left the shop laughing at Cirilo's 
 clientele and assuring everybody that when it came 
 to giving, Irurtia's hands were paralyzed. The 
 peons, who believed with blind faith in Cirilo's 
 learning, gave no credence whatever to the scoffing 
 gibes of this jesting skeptic. 
 
 After the ill-humor of the first moment had sub- 
 sided and the cloud of anger had been scattered, 
 Matamoros, realizing the stability and the power of 
 his standing among these country folk, and proud 
 that the capital should have called him, even though 
 it had been through the agency of don Camilo 
 Irurtia, mounted Rocinante, which did not cost a 
 centimo, instead of taking the train, and — off to 
 Caracas! 
 
 He rode along in contentment despite the gibes of 
 the servant, despite the eleven o'clock sun, despite 
 the asphyxiating eddies of hot dust. And why not? 
 Caracas was calling him; Caracas — glory. 
 
 As he turned into East Avenue, Cirilo Matamaros 
 was carried along engrossed in his thoughts of great- 
 ness, and engrossed in his thoughts of greatness he 
 spurred his mount up-street. 
 
 Matamoros rode amidst the worldly procession of 
 the Avenue with the greatest indifference. That 
 wave of elegance was rushing toward him; from out 
 of this ocean of the capital's populace had risen 
 voices that reached to the obscure shop of Chacao, 
 imploring the services of this modest, quaint fellow. 
 
8 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 And the modest quaint fellow was not at all to be 
 sniffed at, despite the scoffing of a flunkey or of aca- 
 demic presumption. 
 
 The growing number of coaches obliged him to 
 stop his horse for a moment between two victorias. 
 One of the coachmen, trying to play a nasty trick, 
 cracked his whip over the nag's bony haunches. 
 Matamoros heard behind him the provocation of the 
 whip-snapping and he wavered with the sudden 
 movement of the jade, which had been hurt by the 
 lash of the whip ; but he merely cast upon the Jehu 
 a look more of disdain than of anger, and continued 
 on his way, as well as he could, without saying a 
 word to the insolent feUow. 
 
 Reaching Candelaria Square he turned to the 
 right. 
 
 He advanced more than three hundred metres yet 
 he could easily imagine that he had come into a 
 different city; the houses were lower than on the 
 Avenue, the windows more narrow, the walls less 
 brilliant, the doors less severe, and the street was 
 not filled by an elegant public; only some artisan 
 here and there in quest of his lunch. At the doors 
 and behind the shutters were visible the dark-com- 
 plexioned womenfolk, standing there either in curi- 
 osity or waiting for brothers, fathers and husbands 
 whom, perhaps, they feared to behold returning 
 from the dram-shops with two or three drinks more 
 than usual. , 
 
 On a corner various ragged urchins from twelve to 
 seventeen were playing at chapas, tossing five- 
 centimo pieces into the air to win or lose according 
 to whether the coin would fall on head or tail. 
 
CIRILO MATAMOROS 9 
 
 Somewhat farther on, the horseman stopped be- 
 fore a gray, defaced cottage with a single window, 
 a low roof, a closed door and a sordid appearance. 
 The window, crossed by wooden bars, had its shut- 
 ters almost entirely closed like two eyelashes. The 
 drawn shutters looked like deceitful, squinting eyes. 
 
 The ramshackle, discolored door had an iron 
 knocker. The house, with its air of mistrust, its 
 shutters that seemed to pry upon the vicinity, its 
 well-closed door, contrasted with the dweUings of 
 the neighborhood, whose wide open front doors 
 seemed to invite the passer-by. 
 
 The new arrival knocked at the door without dis- 
 mounting. As nobody replied, after a moment's 
 wait, he knocked again. The silence scarcely 
 answered. For a third time he struck the mute 
 door with his knuckles. A thin, old face appeared 
 at last behind one of the shutters, asking: 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "A man of peace," replied the horseman. 
 
 The old man must have recognized him, for he 
 said: 
 
 "Ah, is that you, Cirilo? Just a miuute; I'll open 
 the door for you." 
 
 The countryman, having dismounted, was fasten- 
 ing his horse to the bars of the window when the 
 door opened. The old fellow — a long-shanked, 
 wizened, big-jawed creature — exclaimed to Mata- 
 moros in alarm: 
 
 "Are you going to leave your animal here, in the 
 street? Aren't you afraid that it'll be stolen?" 
 
 "Let them steal jt," replied Matamoros, about to 
 enter. 
 
10 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The other, however, insisted, with astonishment: 
 
 "Don't be absurd. They might steal the horse, 
 or the saddle, or a stirrup. You'd better leave your 
 horse here in the zagudn." ^ 
 
 With the consent of the rustic, the lanky, hawk- 
 like old man appeared more at ease. 
 
 They entered the corridor, conversing. 
 
 "But you don't look as if you were ill, don 
 Camilo." 
 
 "Fortunately, that's so. I'm not the sick one." 
 
 2 Outer passage or vestibule, leading to patio, or courtyard. 
 
II 
 
 CAMILO AND TOMASA 
 
 AND truly the sick one was not don Camilo 
 Irurtia, but Tomasa, a sallow old rheumatic 
 woman who served him. 
 
 Irurtia had never had any other domestic servant 
 than that witch with the white, dishevelled hair. 
 
 An old mahogany cabinet and Tomasa, both of 
 them family heirlooms and both older than Irurtia, 
 had accompanied him since the flourishing days in 
 which Irurtia, first a commercial clerk and then a 
 book-keeper, had lived with his mother and his two 
 sisters. 
 
 His mother having died and his two sisters having 
 married, Irurtia took reckoning: living alone, on ac- 
 count of the washing and the cooking, would cost 
 him more than to live with Tomasa. He rented a 
 room which he divided in two by means of a red 
 curtain. In one of the halves he established himself 
 and his maternal mahogany cabinet; in the other 
 half he put Tomasa. 
 
 There she did the washing of the house, or, rather, 
 of the room; there she ironed; there she cookied for 
 herself and Camilo, though she nearly stifled with 
 the smoke; there she slept upon a mat which, at 
 daybreak, she would roll up and place in a corner, 
 always the same. 
 
 11 
 
12 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 At night, at the hour of retiring, Tomasa would 
 turn her face to the wall so as not to see, through 
 the transparent curtain, thanks to the candle, don 
 Camilo in his underwear. Irurtia, when he dis- 
 covered this, obviated the difficulty by determining 
 that they should undress in the dark. "We'll save 
 something by doing away with the candle," he 
 thought; and turning to Tomasa he asked: 
 
 "Who ever said that people need light to im- 
 dress?" 
 
 He never paid the dishevelled old woman. He 
 shared with her a wretched, chaste existence. And 
 Tomasa, bound by affection, by indolence and by 
 the fear of the unknown to this man, whom she had 
 brought up from his very birth, asked nothing bet- 
 ter. At very rare intervals Irurtia would slip a 
 small coin into her hand, or would present her, for 
 Holy Week or New Year's, with a piece of chintz, 
 or sonae cast-off garment bought for seven or eight 
 reales at the Saturday sales in the pawnshop. 
 
 Camilo was saving up little by little, very quietly, 
 as if in secret. 
 
 Economical by instinct, at first he kept his meager 
 wages as book-keeper almost intact, living with less 
 expenditure than a spider. Then he began to lend 
 out money to the young employees and to the spend- 
 thrift janitor of the store, with the guarantee of the 
 cashier and all manner of written and unwritten 
 pledges. 
 
 The money-lender himself collected the wages of 
 his debtors, discounted and retained the debt and 
 the stipulated interest — never less than twenty- 
 five per cent — and returned to each one with 
 
CAMILO AND TOMASA 13 
 
 scrupulous honesty, though not without pain, the 
 balance of his monthly wages. 
 
 As his capital increased, so did Camilo's lust for 
 gain. Then he commenced to loan money to needy 
 folk upon articles of little Value: sewing-machines, 
 carpenters' saws, masons' trowels. And some of 
 his clients, having nothing else to pawn, brought 
 carpets, lamps, stew-pots, bed clothes and clothing: 
 
 Camilo accepted everything and moreover, every- 
 thing remained in his possession at the least devia- 
 tion from the letter of the agreement; at times he 
 would also resort to tricks and subterfuges when, 
 the debtor, some poor devil or a helpless woman, 
 would permit himself to be robbed through fear or 
 gullibleness. 
 
 His fruitful money kept on multiplying. 
 
 Irurtia gave up book-keeping for the store in 
 order to devote himself to his own accounts. He 
 required a more capacious place for holding objects 
 as heterogeneous as they were many, and he moved. 
 
 This change of residence was the subject of long 
 discussion and staying up late on the part of Tomasa 
 and Irurtia. Although Tomasa heard and saw 
 through the ears and eyes of Irurtia, admiring him 
 and rendering him blind obedience, although she 
 possessed a clear notion of nothing and was the least 
 practical creature on earth, Camilo frequently con- 
 sulted her upon matters of minor consequence; this 
 provided him with an opportunity of speaking to 
 somebody, for neither his nephews nor his sisters 
 visited him, nor did he visit them but a single time 
 during the year, or less, fearful lest they should make 
 him the victim of some loan. 
 
14 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Tomasa treated with him on familiar terms, as 
 one who had been in the family service when he was 
 born. They would become involved in discussions 
 respecting the convenience or the inconvenience of 
 the new dwelling, now during a meal, or again at 
 night, by the Ught of the waning tallow candle that 
 lighted up both divisions of the room, to the right 
 and the left of the red curtain. 
 
 Tomasa would always conclude by accepting 
 Camilo's opinion : 
 
 "That's it; you are right: three rooms and a 
 kitchen. I'll sleep in the kitchen. You'll sleep in 
 one of the rooms, and the other two will serve as 
 reception rooms for the persons who come to do busi- 
 ness with you and as depositories for the corotos on 
 which you lend out money." 
 
 But suddenly it occurred to CamUo that three 
 rooms and a kitchen were a needless waste. Two 
 rooms and a kitchen would suffice. They would 
 nail up boards, in the manner of shelves, so as to 
 take full advantage of the wall space, and thiis they 
 could fill the room as high as the ceiling with the 
 pawned articles — with the utensils, the clothes or 
 corotos,^ as Tomasa called them — without the 
 necessity of paying rent for a third room. 
 
 "Yes, that is best," agreed Tomasa, convinced. 
 
 At last they moved. Irurtia, lucky and inflexible 
 fellow that he was, found just such a place as his 
 stinginess had visioned. 
 
 "Any other man would have looked for ten years 
 
 * An Americanism equivalent to Spanish trastos, trebejos, i.e., 
 trash, gew-gaws, implements. 
 
CAMILO AND TOMASA 15 
 
 without finding such a place," said Tomasa, voicing 
 her sincere admiration. 
 
 Irurtia's affairs were sailing along at full speed. 
 
 In the room given over to the corotos there were 
 soon heaped up saddles, beds, musical instruments, 
 porcelain vessels, books, clothes, daggers, mus- 
 kets, Winchesters, swords and a genuine Turkish 
 scimitar. 
 
 In the historical mahogany cabinet, to which had 
 been attached a most complicated safety lock, 
 Camilo concealed beneath quilts and rags, four or 
 five little chests of stout araguaney bordered with 
 strips of iron. One of these coffers in the smallest 
 of its compartments, contained little silver coins; in 
 the other it held gold coin and bank notes; above 
 aU, gold coin. And as Irurtia's clientele and busi- 
 ness grew better from day to day, the other coffers 
 contained pawned jewelry: earrings set with pre- 
 cious stones, diamond rings, pearl necklaces, plain 
 wedding rings, tiny ladies' watches with initials 
 made up of rubies and sapphires, scarf pins, stones 
 set in the form of a daisy, brooches, gew-gaws and 
 gold crosses. Yes: the rich, too, found their way to 
 Irurtia's hovel. The rich, too, needed money. The 
 rich, too, thanks to the wiles of CamUo, lost at times, 
 their crosses of gold and their diamond rings. 
 
 And even when they did not leave their pledges 
 behind, they left a .good bit of money. Irurtia was 
 terrible; a vampire of gold. And how methodical 
 this trickster was! 
 
 Every jewel, carefully wrapped in yellow tissue 
 paper, bore its ticket — a strip of white paper — and 
 on the ticket stood out in red ink a name, a date, a 
 
16 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 number and two or three cabalistic signs that only 
 Irurtia could ever decipher. 
 
 At about this time there occurred an incident of 
 transcendent importance in the life of the usurer. 
 
 The miser was visited by robbers during the 
 middle of the night. These bold, noiseless poltroons 
 worked their way into Camilo's rooms, gagged and 
 bound him as well as Tomasa before either of them 
 could have said "Jesus," and throwing aside articles 
 of little value began to rummage about for the gold 
 coin and the jewelry. 
 
 As Irurtia's luck would have it, two men of the 
 neighborhood who happened to return home late 
 that night, heard a certain suspicious noise and 
 spread the alarm. The neighbors came running to 
 the rescue, and at last the police arrived, and the 
 three rascally fellows who had tried to rob Irurtia 
 were trapped. 
 
 Irurtia did not lose a centimo. 
 
 Camilo and Tomasa had received a terrible fright. 
 No sooner did it get dark than the old woman 
 would tremble with terror; her teeth would chatter 
 and at the sound of a door being slammed or a win- 
 dow being shut noisily, she would bound as if shot 
 upwards by a spring. 
 
 Irurtia fell ill and had to take to bed with cere- 
 bral fever. In his delirium he could behold power- 
 ful arms clutching him so tightly that they strangled 
 him — fingers like claws tenaciously seizing his 
 throat; hands of prey swooping down upon -his 
 morocotas, callaos, ounces, pounds sterling, louis 
 d'or; figures of bandits gliding in the shadows, their 
 
CAMILO AND TOMASA 17 
 
 faces masked, holding und6r their arms packets of 
 bank notes that they had robbed from the mahogany 
 cabinet. 
 
 "They're hanging me, Toilnasa!" the poor delirious 
 fellow would gasp. "The bank notes, the gold. 
 They're robbing me. Thieves!" 
 
 Little by little he recovered. It had been neces- 
 sary to call a doctor, without consulting Irurtia, 
 who woxild have had none of it. The physician 
 charged dear, excessively dear, according to Camilo. 
 That was a species of robbery authorized by 
 the law. 
 
 "Between this bandit and the others," he asserted, 
 "I prefer the others. At least they expose their 
 lives." 
 
 Such was Irurtia's excitement that they feared 
 a relapse. Ever since that time he investigated 
 matters so as to be prepared for future contingen- 
 cies. Ever since then he began to deal with Ciriloi 
 Matamoros, the renowned curandero of Chacao who 
 not only never accepted money for his medical serv- 
 ices, but even made a gift of the medicine to his 
 patients. 
 
 Cirilo Matamoros certainly attended and treated 
 Irurtia and Tomasa respectively with the greatest 
 success, whenever either of them fell ill, which, it 
 may be said parenthetically, occurred almost never. 
 Besides being healthy persons, they both led a 
 hygienic life* without any set purpose to do so — 
 a regular life, without excesses, rising early, eating 
 little, drinking only water, and' indifferent to any- 
 thing that did not concern them directly. How 
 and when, then, were they to get sick? 
 
18 THE MAN OF QOLD 
 
 "Welcome, ill luck if thou comest alone." After 
 his brain fever and the robbery, Irurtia might have 
 repeated this proverb, and he would have done so 
 with good reason. 
 
 The search made of Irurtia's house by the police, 
 on account of the robbery, or the attempt at robbery, 
 had serious results for the usurer. 
 
 The authorities discovered that Irurtia was carry- 
 ing on a money-lending business without the knowl- 
 edge of the law, and without paying the license-fee 
 which, as a pawn-broker, he owed to the state. Late 
 indeed did the law open its eyes to this law-breaker 
 who for years and years had outwitted it; but the 
 la'^ made up for its oversight, 
 j^flrurtia was heavily fined; all annual arrearages 
 of the fee which he had never paid were collected, 
 plus the interest on the principal to which the 
 evaded tax amotmted ; he was forbidden to carry on 
 ftis money-lending by the imposition of exorbitant 
 rates upon each victim according to the whim that 
 ^seized him; he was reminded, finally, of the per- 
 centage to which the law compelled him to limit 
 himself. 
 
 That blow, a consequence of the shock of the 
 robbers, and a hundred times harder and more over- 
 whelming than the latter, almost undid Camilo 
 IVurtia. He thought he would die; In vain did 
 he consult lawyers; in vain did he attempt to bribe 
 minor government employees ; in vainldid he strug- 
 gle to free himself from the mountain that was fall- 
 ing upon him. All*in vain. The mountain crushed 
 him. The law, blind, deaf, merciless, vindictive — 
 tore the very entrails out of the delinquent. What 
 
CAMILO AND TOMASA 19 
 
 an injustice! What an abuse of power! The en- 
 tire social organization was defective; he realized 
 that now. All that the Government thought of was 
 to rob its citizens. Venezuela was a ruined nation. 
 Ungrateful country. 
 
 He even thought of leaving the land. But his 
 interests and ambition held him back. Very soon 
 he discarded All notion of emigration. 
 
 It then occurred to Camilo Irurtia to wreak ven- 
 geance upon the present government, which he 
 blamed for the heavy fine that had been imposed 
 and for the regulation of usury. He revolted against 
 established order. He even went so far as to con- 
 sort with professional revolutionists. Only the 
 revolutionists frightened him with requests for 
 money. Whereupon Irurtia renounced the revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 To loan out money at less than 25 or 30 per cent 
 per month seemed to him utter absurdity. He was 
 not disposed to commit any foUies. He gave up 
 lending money on jewelry and clothing, under the 
 eye of the police. He longed for that liberty of ac- 
 tion which he had enjoyed before. 
 
 He went into the business of making loans to 
 employees of the ministerial departments. The law 
 had no provisions for such cases. And he knew, 
 from his experience with the old, modest loans 
 made to the men who worked in the place where he 
 kept books, the sort of surety that he could and 
 ought to get. The fimcMonaries would sign their 
 names to incredibly extortionate documents, on 
 state paper, affirming that they had received such 
 and such quantities — three or four times what they 
 
20 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 had really received — and promising to pay them 
 off every two" weeks. 
 
 These morsels seemed slender indeed to Iriirtia's 
 gullet. 
 
 Then he began to buy old buildings and remodel 
 them. Scarcely had he begun to taste the luscious 
 honey of this form of usury, which by a hundred 
 subterfuges circumvents every provision of the law, 
 when Irurtia became a specialist in the matter; or to 
 state the case more exactly, he chose as his specialty 
 that sort of business which is known as dealing in 
 remodelled property. 
 
 Before long he was the owner of properties, which 
 he was wily enough to acquire for ridiculous sums, 
 thanks to one pretext or the other, and fully pro- 
 tected (he saw to this point!) against any legislative 
 punctilio. Experience had taught him. For the 
 purpose of circumventing the law he learned all 
 the skillful wiles of a pettifoger. 
 
 "Why," asked Tomasa on a certain occasion, "if 
 you own various houses, should you live in these 
 two rooms that are owned by somebody else and 
 for which you must pay rent?" 
 
 "IVe been thinking about that for some time," 
 replied Irurtia to the old woman. "Above all, we'll be 
 far more comfortable. I'll be able to receive the peo- 
 ple that come to me on business in a decent manner." 
 
 "At our present expenses," added Tomasa, "we'll 
 be able to live ten times as well." 
 
 "Yes, we'll be ten times better off," argued Irurtia, 
 "but not at the same cost as at present. It'U 
 amount to something more — only a trifle dearer; 
 but something more, at any rate." 
 
CAMILO AND TOMASA 21 
 
 This was the third time in all his life that 
 CamUo Irurtia changed residence. 
 
 The house, situated in the parish of Candelaria, 
 toward Gamboa, was the ramshackle place where 
 Cirilo Matamoros, the curandero of Chacao, found 
 him that Sunday afternoon in June. 
 
 No sooner had Cirilo learned that the patient was 
 not Irurtia, but Tomasa, than he was slightly dis- 
 appointed. After all it was not the same thing, nor 
 did it possess the same significance for his reputa- 
 tion, to treat a capitalist as well-known as Camilo 
 Irurtia or an aged servant. But his vocation, his 
 eagerness to bestow his remedies, his mania for pre- 
 scribing got the better of Cirilo Matamoros, and he 
 began to inquire with genuine interest into the ill- 
 ness that troubled the housekeeper. 
 
 "Pains all over her body," informed Irurtia, 
 vaguely. 
 
 And he added: 
 
 "LeDlS go to her room. You'll judge for yourself." 
 
 Yellower than ever, lying upon a cot, without any 
 bed sheets, wearing a short mantilla that had seen 
 far better days, a fi*ayed, faded, grimy shawl, the 
 poor old woman, with her dishevelled white hair 
 flowing all over the filthy pillow, complained of 
 shooting pains in her bones, especially in the right 
 leg. 
 
 Matamoros made further inquiries. He examined 
 her flabby leg from the thigh to the heel, moved the 
 joints, looked closely at the knee-caps, then in- 
 spected her elbows, her wrists, her finger- joints, and 
 concluded with an absolute certainty that was truly 
 doctoral: 
 
22 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Rheumatism!" 
 
 "And what shall we do to her?" asked Irurtia. 
 
 "First of all we must apply a clusia," replied 
 Matamoros. 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 "It's a medicine which the foreigners ..." 
 
 He was not permitted to finish. Irurtia had 
 brought his hands to his head. 
 
 Apothecary remedies? Medicines that cost a 
 fortune and don't cure? CirUo had gone crazy or 
 had been infected by the example of the doctors in 
 Caracas, who thought that they could cure anything 
 with bottles of medicine that cost twelve reales 
 apiece. What about those curative herbs that CirUo 
 always brought with him, which he never refused 
 to the sick, and which, as soon as they had been 
 brewed and drimk, banished the most obstinate ail- 
 ments? 
 
 Cirilo listened silently. After Irurtia had con- 
 cluded his outburst of horror, the herb-doctor re- 
 peated, solemnly: 
 
 "First of all, clusia, as the foreigners call it; or, 
 according to our native speech, copey." 
 
 "Ah ! A native plant ? Excellent ! " 
 
 Irurtia waxed radiant. 
 
 The old woman began to complain that she could 
 not stretch her leg. 
 
Ill 
 
 A MISER'S HOUSEHOLD 
 
 DON CAMILO rose with the dawn, as usual. 
 Tomasa, despite her rheumatism, the pains of 
 which were sharper than ever ia the cold of early- 
 morning, was already heating the breakfast coffee 
 upon the kitchen range. When the coffee was 
 ready, the old woman called Irurtia, who had begun 
 squinting through the shutters into the street. 
 
 "Camilo, come and have your breakfast." 
 
 Camilo and Tomasa sat down in fraternal, demo- 
 cratic fashion at the same table — a square little 
 affair covered with a faded oil-cloth which once 
 upon a time had been of chocolate color, and where 
 the coffee cups and the hot dishes had left yellowish 
 circles resembling the halos of saints. 
 
 The cups, in reality, were not of the ordinary sort, 
 but were chocolate cups of coarse white fayence 
 with three or four roses painted upon them by way 
 of flowery adornment. They seemed to smile out 
 of their chipped edges; the roses had' faded with use, 
 turning into flowers of an anemic, pale, almost white 
 pink. 
 
 The coffee steamed, black and odorous, despite the 
 excessive amount of cane liquor with which Tomasa 
 had baptized it to add to its strength. Beside each 
 cup of coffee a small loaf of wheat bread, fresh from 
 
 23 
 
24 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 the oven, awaited the diners' teeth. Two gulps of 
 coffee flavored with cane liquor and a centavo loaf of 
 bread: this was the breakfast. 
 
 With such provisions in their stomachs Tomasa 
 and Canulo waited till noon. Camilo desired to 
 avoid digestive troubles as far as possible. 
 
 "Folks eat too much in Caracas," he would often 
 say. 
 
 And he would expatiate upon his idea: 
 
 "A plate of sancocko* at noon, plus three, four 
 and even five heavy dishes, in this climate spells 
 sheer nonsense. The stomach gets full, the brain 
 is stultified. Hence the necessity of the siesta; 
 hence nobody can work, or at least nobody can do 
 any good work in certain regions of Venezuela after 
 the noon-day meal. They lose an hour and a half 
 to two hours every day. Life is shortened. Capac- 
 ity for labor is decreased. And since the general 
 activity of the nation depends upon the sum of 
 the individual activities, what is the result? The 
 result is that in Venezuela the evolution of the 
 country is exceedingly slow; progress walks with 
 leaden feet; the republic rides on muleback, not by 
 railroad." 
 
 It was a veritable theory. And don Camilo would 
 always sign his speech with this sentence: 
 
 "Sancocho is Venezuela's worst enemy." 
 
 And for this reason, perhaps, don Camilo, an ex- 
 cellent patriot when he could be so without any 
 expense to himself, had exiled the classic dish from 
 his table. Don Camilo was a vegetarian. He sub- 
 sisted on green stuffs. As for yam, carrot, sweet- 
 
 • — ^., 4 ^ gtew of meat, yucca, bananas, etc. , - 
 
A MISER'S HOUSEHOLD 25 
 
 potato, ahuyama, mapuey — he would have none of 
 them. Celery — no; too costly. Now and then an 
 egg omelet; at other times, fried bananas. For the 
 mid-day meal he would be content with garlic soup, 
 or old bread, a few kidney-beans or black beans, 
 and a pan-cake. Meat, never! such poison! 
 
 Before beginning his breakfast Irurtia asked the 
 old woman: 
 
 "How did you spend the night?" 
 
 Tomasa complained of much pain. Toward day- 
 break the cold martyrized her. She could barely 
 stretch her leg. Those finger joints of her left hand 
 were beginning to swell. 
 
 Irurtia began to console her. She must have 
 faith in Cirilo Matamoros, and particularly in the 
 herbs and beverages that he gave free of charge. 
 Matamoros knew far more than the university doc- 
 tors. 
 
 "Right away; you saw for yourself. He didn't 
 hesitate a moment in recognizing your rheumatism. 
 One of our cheap Caracas physicians wouldn't have 
 ventured an opinion before three or four visits and 
 three or four bleedings of his neighbor's purse." 
 
 He was filled with rancor against the physicians 
 because one of them had "robbed" him at the time 
 of his brain fever. He was terrified by the thought 
 that it ''might occur to Tomasa to ask the services 
 of a regular doctor. Thus, at the same time that he 
 praised the free Cirilo Matamoros higher than the 
 horns of the moon, he decided to make use of the 
 opportunity to decry the regular profession once 
 more. With this object in view he began a tale. 
 
 "Just see, Tomasa, what these wretched physi- 
 
26 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 cians are. At Empedrado, beyond Palo-Gracia — 
 you know the place — a certain fellow began to 
 complain of pain in one of his ears. The doctor that 
 he called in niade one visit after the other, trying 
 remedy after remedy. All in vain ; the patient did 
 not improve. The doctor, zealous, conscientious, 
 serious, continued to come, promising him a speedy 
 cure and collecting five bolivares for every examina- 
 tion. One day the doctor, who was an old man, 
 fell sick abed and sent as his substitute his son, who 
 was also a doctor. When the young doctor examined 
 the fellow's ear he exclaimed : 'Why, my good chap, 
 what you've got here is a sheep-louse!' And with 
 his tweezers he pulled out the insect. From that 
 very moment the sick man felt reUeved and he 
 needed no further treatment — no more drugs, 
 no more prescriptions, no more doctors, no more 
 paying five francs every time the physician came 
 in to ask him how he felt and then write down 
 unintelligible words on a sheet of paper to take 
 to the pharmacy. When the old doctor got 
 out of his sick bed, fully recovered, his son told him 
 all about the case. 'I cured that man at Empedrado 
 in a jiffy, simply by taking the sheep-tick out of his 
 ear.' The father could not get over his amazement. 
 '^Tiat! Have you gone and committed such a folly? 
 With that louse, which I cared for with the utmost 
 solicitude, I fed my family for several days. My 
 son, you love science; you know the profession. 
 That is not enough. You must learn the art of 
 practising it.' " 
 
 Tomasa had a good laugh over the story without 
 seeing through Irurtia's intention in telling it; and 
 
A MISER'S HOUSEHOLD 27 
 
 as it was already time, they rose from the table. 
 Tomasa, limping and complaining, began to sweep 
 the house, starting with the zagudn, while Irurtia 
 walked over to the window that looked on the street. 
 
 It was seven. In a few moments the newspaper- 
 vendors would come by. Irurtia began to watch 
 for them. 
 
 Every day he bought El Noticiero — one centavo. 
 What the deuce! A fellow must know what's going 
 on in the world. He had certain interests; he 
 played the stock-market. A violent turn of politics 
 — any incident-at all, might cost him money. With 
 such arguments as these, and others of more recon- 
 dite, complicated nature, not devoid of practical 
 considerations, Irurtia explained and justified to 
 himself the resolution — which had been a long time 
 arriving at maturity — to squander five c4ntimos 
 every morning upon the purchase of El Noticiero. 
 At any rate, every morning after breakfast he would 
 watch at the window for the news-vendors; then 
 he would sit down in the corridor to devour the 
 six pages of the newspaper from the title down to 
 the very last word of the advertisements. After- 
 wards, folding it carefully up, he would put it away 
 to make pound bundles which he later sold to the 
 shops for wrapping paper. 
 
 While Irurtia read, the old woman swept the 
 house. 
 
 The labor of sweeping gave the rheumatic house- 
 keeper little pain ; the house was short and narrow. 
 
 Crossing the very small outer vestibule one en- 
 countered first of all the corridor, which was three 
 of four metres square. On this corridor opened two 
 
28 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 doors — the door to the parlor and that to Irurtia's 
 office. The corridor was followed by the patio — a 
 diminutive, rectangular inner court; at the left was 
 Camilo's bedchamber, and at the rear a wooden 
 partition which served as the boundary between the 
 patio and the dining-room. 
 
 Beyond the dining-room another yard, smaller 
 than the first, served as poultry-yard, washing-place, 
 bath, dust-bin, toilet and what not else. The kit- 
 chen and Tomasa's tiny room received light and air 
 from this small, ill-smeUing yard whose dirty red 
 stones, because of the dampness, were covered with 
 a thick greenish moss. 
 
 The rooms were all small and square ; in Tomasa's 
 ugly habitation the oozing dankness traced a dark 
 wainscoating upon the wall. 
 
 As the flooring of the house was of brick, every 
 time the place was swept there would rise in the 
 dining-room, parlor and forward yard a reddish dust 
 that stuck to the lime walls, coverting them into 
 hangings of grayish, yellowish, grimy spots. From 
 the beams and slates of the roof — for there was no 
 ceiling — there hung in every corner thick spiders' 
 webs, slaty lumps, hammocks and fly-snares. 
 Tomasa's house-cleaning was a mere formula, a pre- 
 text to keep busy; the house always looked like a 
 pig-sty, or very nearly. 
 
 No sooner was the sweeping done than Tomasa, 
 sei^mg her feather-duster, would hobble along, her 
 white tousled hair fluttering in the air, to begin 
 her perfunctory cleaning; she did this once per 
 week. 
 
 She began with the corridor. Plain furnishing: 
 
A MISER'S HOUSEHOLD 29 
 
 two chairs of ordinary wood stand by a table that 
 is varnished a dark color and has no cover. Hang- 
 ing from the roof, in the center of the room, a 
 hteavy, antideluvian bronze lamp provides light dur- 
 ing the early night for the conversations between 
 Tomasa and don CamUo. A bamboo rack receives 
 the hats of the visitors when the visitors — that is 
 to say, the men who come on business — do not 
 leave their hats, canes and umbrellas upon the dark 
 table. 
 
 As soon as she finished with the corridor — and 
 she would finish in a trice — Tomasa passed to the 
 parlor. 
 
 The cleaning of this room required little more 
 effort. 
 
 In the center of the room arises a dark bulk of 
 pine, oval-shaped. On the black table is a lamp of 
 white crockery, with a filthy tube and a cracked 
 globe. They never lighted it. A half dozen chairs 
 of black reed, with seats of plaited straw, and two 
 arm-chairs of the same type, congregated, as if in 
 conclave, to lament the solitude that always reigned 
 in that room. A little mirror, oval-shaped like the 
 table, with a frame as black as the chairs and the 
 arm-chairs, occupies the middle of the opposite 
 wall. To each side of the mirror there are various 
 old portraits: a woman at the right, a man at the 
 left. These are the father and mother of Camilo 
 Irurtia who preside over the solitude and the neglect 
 of that rich man's parlor — the salon of their mil- 
 lionaire son. 
 
 From the parlor the old woman passed Irurtia's, 
 office. This was the best furnished room in the 
 
30 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 house. It was here that don Camilo always re- 
 ceived his guests. 
 
 In the center, a wide table covered with docu- 
 ments, all in order — some held down by glass bialls 
 or by polished guarataros. A very massive desk, 
 covered with morocco leather or faded oil-cloth, 
 rears its documentary stomach before the comfort- 
 able swivel-chair of the lanky, heavy- jawed Camilo 
 Irurtia, king of house speculators. 
 
 To the right of the writing-desk, a small cedar 
 wardrobe, filled not with clothes but with papers; 
 to the left, two old leather chairs, the costliest pos- 
 sessions of the household, acquired at the pawnshop 
 counter, and three black chairs of plaited straw, like 
 those of the parlor. Nailed to the wall near the 
 cedar wardrobe, a brightly-colored calendar that 
 had been received as a Christmas present from the 
 greengrocer. 
 
 After the office, and communicating with it by an 
 inner door, the money-lender's bedroom. 
 
 This place was provided with a yellowish, frayed 
 cot — a cot that had been left with Irurtia years 
 beforp as collateral. In one of the corners the 
 chaste couch of Irurtia yawned with boredom; it 
 was covered by a bright quilt, a bedspread of many- 
 colored patches purchased at a few centimo^ and 
 pieced together, by the labor and art of Tomasa, 
 into a coverlet. At the head of the bed, a round 
 lamp-stand in the style of the Napoleonic empire, 
 which clashed with the color, and, if that were pos- 
 sible, with the style and epoch of the narrow bed; 
 but this clash was not really possible, for the couch 
 had no color, nor had it ever possessed any style; it 
 
A MISER'S HOUSEHOLD 31 
 
 belonged to the era in which two vertical boards 
 screwed to two horizontal planks were called a bed. 
 
 The wash-stand consisted of a tin basin upon an 
 iron tripod that barely managed to hold together; 
 above the stand, at about the height of one's eyes, 
 hung a peseta looking-glass from which most of the 
 quicksilver had been worn away. 
 
 The famous mahogany cabinet, the pride and heri- 
 tage of Camilo, occupied a great deal of room; and 
 skilfully hiding behind a brown woolen curtain, a 
 huge mass almost embeds itself into the wall: this 
 is the iron safe. 
 
 Tomasa took very little pains to tidy this last 
 piece of furniture. Irurtia had prohibited her from 
 touching it even with her feather-duster, and from 
 drawing the curtain aside even in her thoughts. 
 
 Tomasa was a submissive soul, well accustomed 
 to wearing the yoke of don Camilo and it cost her 
 not the slightest effort to obey. For her that iron 
 safe did not exist. For her that iron safe was like the 
 altar of another religion — don Camilo's religion — 
 which she knew nothing about. She was content to 
 respect the altar through love of the worshipper and 
 through force of habit. 
 
 When there was nothing left to sweep away or to 
 dust off, Tomasa, taking up a little basket, would 
 go off on her errands. 
 
 Daily, Irurtia would wait for the old woman to 
 return from the shops so that he might go out on his 
 affairs. The house could not be left alone. And 
 while Camilo was out, old Tomasa would do the 
 washing and prepare lunch — a vegetarian lunch, a 
 meal for herbivorous creatures. Then she would 
 take the afternoon nap. 
 
32 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Not Irurtia, however. Irurtia, during the hot, 
 muggy hours, was habituated to remaining in his 
 office, writing or looking over notes, contracts, securi- 
 ties — every sort of document; or consulting and re- 
 ducing to the lowest possible figure the costs of the 
 houses that were to be repaired; or making sure that 
 the cement dealer, the tile dealer or the paint man 
 hadn't charged him more the last time than time be- 
 fore last; or figuring how much he could increase the 
 sales price of a house that had cost him so much. 
 The truth is that his digestion did not interfere with 
 his post-prandial ruminations. 
 
 At times, in the solitude of these hours, he would 
 take pleasure behind closed doors in counting, re- 
 counting, handling, gazing upon and sifting through 
 his fingers double doubldons, silver pounds, ccdlaos, 
 louis d'or, morocotas. At other times, very quietly, 
 without thinking or /doing anything, he would feel 
 his head sway and would doze off against his will, as 
 a result of the silence and the heat. And the old 
 woman, now up again, would drag her lame foot 
 about the house, ironing clothes or darning. 
 
 Thus the house was never left deserted. One of 
 the Cerberean guards was always on the watch. 
 They had supper at seven. And shortly afterward, 
 to bed. 
 
 Rising with the dawn, they retired with the hens. 
 CamUo slept the light sleep of the mistrustful, ready 
 to wake at the slightest brush of a fly's wing. On 
 her cot of illness Tomasa spent night after night 
 without sleep; and even when her eyes closed, her 
 slumber was hardly sound. Cursed rheumatism! 
 
IV 
 
 THE PERFUME OF THE TWO WOMEN 
 
 IRURTIA was still reading El Noticiero in the 
 corridor that morning when somebody knocked 
 at the door, usiag the iron knocker so that he should 
 surely hear; for Irurtia's front door was always 
 closed, as if to isolate the house from tiie neighbor- 
 hood, from the city, from the world. Irurtia, as 
 was his habit, ran to one of the shutters before de- 
 ciding to open the door, ever on guard against what 
 might happen — suspicious, afraid, fearing to admit 
 a beggar, a swindler, or — who could tell! — a 
 robber. 
 
 The caller was Berroteran, a master mason whom 
 don Camilo employed for the caretaking and repair 
 of his city property; a proper sort of fellow, as 
 honest as the day, slow and patient. Irurtia trusted 
 Berroteran as far as Irurtia could trust anybody. 
 
 The two men passed to the proprietor's oflEice. 
 
 "Have they finished that house at la Pastora?" 
 asked don Camilo, knowing beforehand that it could 
 not yet be completed. 
 
 The~mason's only reply was a smile, and taking 
 out a sheet of paper he commenced to give an ac- 
 count of the most recent repairs effected there and 
 of the material that was still needed: locks for 
 three doors, two metres of zinc for the poultry-yard, 
 
 33 
 
34 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 a grated cover for the sewer in the backyard, and 
 so on. 
 
 "Between Monday, when you looked it over, and 
 today, we have made excellent progress." 
 
 "Excellent progress and not yet finished?" 
 
 "We'll be through with it this week, don Camilo. 
 Only a few finishing touches are needed and the 
 final coats of paint." 
 
 "You're slow as a snail, master." 
 
 The mason smiled again. 
 
 A moment later he added: 
 
 "As tomorrow is Saturday, I'd like to know whether 
 you can give me the money for the men's wages now, 
 or whether I'll have to come back for it tomorrow." 
 
 "Come tomorrow," replied Irurtia. 
 
 "Concerning the house at Santa Rosalia," went 
 on the mason, "I don't know your intentions. I 
 haven't dared to order the tiles, because they've 
 gone up four reales per hundred." 
 
 Irurtia jumped at the news. 
 
 "Foiiv reales? The robbers! Don't buy a thing. 
 I'd rather have the house come down." 
 
 Then, growing calmer, he added: 
 
 "Let's wait and see if the price comes down. 
 Don't you think so, master?" 
 
 The mason, who knew his employer, agreed: 
 
 "Yes sir; we can wait." 
 
 Then cleverly he suggested to the proprietor that 
 he be spared the trouble of returning next day to 
 get the workingmen's weekly wages. His skill was 
 aU in vain. Irurtia pretended not to understand. 
 
 The mason left, resigned and even indifferent. 
 
 It was around nine in the morning. The usurer 
 
PERPUME OF THE TWO WOMEN 35 
 
 began to don his street attire: a black suit with a 
 frock coat, frayed by wear and by the scrubbing of 
 the brush — the same eternal suit of ten years back. 
 It was time to go out. 
 
 He considered just what he had to do, so that he 
 might work with strict method, perform his tasks in 
 a certain order and thus lose no time. 
 
 He would go first to the Public Registry to legal- 
 ize a document; then he would look over two or 
 three buildings that he was having repaired; later 
 he would visit the Bank of Venezuela and the 
 Caracas Bank; finally, around half -past eleven or 
 twelve, he would go to the corner of San Francisco 
 street, the rendezvous of all the brokers in Caracas, 
 an open-air exchange where, beneath the beautiful, 
 tufted, venerable silk-cotton tree, with its centenary, 
 legendary atmosphere, business and transactions of 
 every sort took place. There he would be told by 
 brokers and his agents of loans to be made with 
 excellent collateral. There he would purchase or 
 sell such and such securities, although Irurtia pre- 
 ferred to deal in solid securities of almost immutable] 
 character — stocks with an absolutely certain in- 
 come, instead of in insecure speculation. 
 
 Don Camilo Irurtia had already decked himself 
 out for the morning; he had already donned his 
 sempiternal silk hat, had seized his sempiternal 
 ebony stick, when there came the sound of the 
 knocker on the street door. 
 
 "A most importune caU, confound it!" he grum- 
 bled between his teeth. 
 
 The knocker sounded once more. 
 
 Irurtia, in high dudgeon, walked over to the 
 
36 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 shutter without removing his hat, turned the catch 
 and cast a glance in the direction of the door. 
 
 Two women were standing outside. Although 
 he was looking straight at them, Camilo, through 
 force of habit, asked : 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 And the women, likewise through force of habit, 
 replied, through the mouth of the younger: 
 
 "Peaceful folk." 
 
 Camilo went to the door. The two women en- 
 tered, and with them entered a whifiF of Coeur de 
 Jeanette perfume. The proprietor, removing his 
 hat, introduced them into his office. 
 
 One of the women was blonde, tall, svelte: she 
 was perhaps eighteen years old. The other, shorter, 
 of dark complexion, black hair and dull-lustred 
 skin and brown, dreamy eyes, was about thirty-six. 
 
 The younger of the two wore a tailor-made navy 
 blue jacket and a white and blue striped skirt. Her 
 shoes were of russet leather, her hat of white felt 
 adorned with a heron feather from Apure or Caura; 
 her parasol was likewise snow-colored. 
 
 The brunette wore a suit of gray gabardine with 
 belt, sleeves and collar of mauve silk. Her hat was 
 black, as were her shoes and parasol. 
 
 The elder of the two women was the first to speak. 
 
 "It seems that you were about to go out. If we 
 are inconveniencing you ..." 
 
 "In fact," interrupted don Camilo, somewhat 
 bruskly, "I was just about to go out. But there's 
 no hurry." 
 
 And, like a man who came directly to the point, 
 he asked: 
 
PERFUME OF THE TWO WOMEN 37 
 
 "And how may I be of service to you?" 
 \ "We have come," continued the woman in gray, 
 "to see whether you would care to buy, from us a 
 house — the house in which we live." 
 
 "My dear lady, I don't buy houses." 
 
 "Ah! We were iaformed ..." 
 
 "You were misinformed." 
 
 The younger of the two broke in forcefully at 
 this point: 
 
 "Everybody knows that your business is ren- 
 ovating houses." 
 
 "But renovating is not purchasing." 
 
 That Irurtia was a half-wild, untamed demon. 
 
 Both women Iqoked at him without the slightest 
 indication of sympathy. 
 
 Lanky, skinny, little bellied; his wrinkly skin 
 seemed to cover only bones. He had long legs, long 
 arms, a long face and a long nose. He was short 
 only in words, and, as rumor had it, in giving. He 
 was short, too, in his attire, for his frock-coat barely 
 reached to his upper thighs, and his trousers, more 
 wrinkled than an accordion, scarcely came to his 
 ankles, as if Irurtia were forever ready to jump over 
 a puddle. He was gray-eyed and gray-haired; his 
 clear, darting little eyes and the whitish wisps of his 
 mustache accentuated his peaked face that had 
 something of the burglar about it, imparting to 
 Irurtia's countenance the aspect of a creature half 
 feline and half rodent. His face and his hands were 
 hairy; here and there little islands of patches where 
 the hair had been scraped off — as if by one shaving 
 himself in haste or in the dark — floated about in 
 his hollow cheeks and his bony jaws. He was as 
 lanky as Don Quijote, and even grayer. 
 
38 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Yes; this man was repugnant to both women. 
 The brusk language he used did not change the 
 impression given by the sight of him; quite to the 
 contrary. They looked at him and heard him in 
 amazement. So this was the famous Irurtia, king 
 of the house speculators! 
 
 "I believe, my dear ladies, that there is some mis- 
 understanding," he said, replying to the blonde. 
 
 "So do I," said the girl. 
 
 But the other intervened, and the untamed beast 
 grew gentler. 
 
 The women continued to observe him with the 
 utmost curiosity. How ugly he was! 
 
 His thin, high neck, within the celluloid collar 
 that was low and much too wide, made this miserly 
 creature look repulsive and grotesque to the women. 
 His Adam's apple rose and fell in his hairy throat. 
 His cravat, a black and extremely short strip of 
 cloth, allowed the shining head of a huge copper 
 collar button to be seen. The grayish hair of his 
 mustache against his pointed snout, and those dart- 
 ing, restless money-lender's eyes, when his face grew 
 animated with conversation, heightened his resem- 
 blance to a rat. 
 
 Both women felt an indefinable uneasiness in the 
 presence of the miser; not the fear which is in- 
 spired by a powerful animal — a bear, a buU, a lion 
 — but that instinctive repulsion and repugnance 
 which are aroused by a toad, a spider, a bat, or the 
 whitish, gelatinous jelly-fish that one accidentally 
 steps upon with the naked foot, upon the beach. 
 
 Both were eager to cut the interview short. 
 
 The younger one — the blonde — had already 
 
PERFUME OF THE TWO WOMEN 39 
 
 expressed herself rudely, and was on the point of 
 leaving, disposed to halt the talk and the business 
 then and there. The brunette, more gentle in voice 
 and in presence, spoke then anew, asking: 
 
 "It seems, then, that you wouldn't care to buy 
 our house?" 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "Nor exchange it for a smaller one, giving us the 
 difference in money? Our house is an ancient man- 
 sion of the colonial days — immense, comfortable, 
 with plenty of flowers in the patios, a magnificent 
 garden in the yard. It's well constructed and dur- 
 able, with thick walls of masonry. The earth- 
 quake of 1812 didn't displace a single stone. It 
 wasn't touched." 
 
 The antelope-like don Camilo began to bite at 
 the nails of his left hand, his eyes fixed upon the 
 woman who was addressing him, and then, in an 
 instant, replied: 
 
 "I'd have to see it." 
 
 It was agreed that Irurtia should come to see it 
 on the afternoon of the following day, at four, and 
 then give his answer. 
 
 Both women left. 
 
 The dingy place continued to exhale an aroma of 
 feminine elegance. 
 
 Irurtia remained standing, still gnawing his nails. 
 This biting of his nails was in him an unmistakable 
 sign of nervousness and preoccupation. 
 
 A moment later, taking his hat and his ebony 
 cane, the meditative fellow hastened out into the 
 street. 
 
 The ramshackle cottage still exhaled the odor of 
 woman. 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 
 
 HAVING concluded their visit to Irurtia, both 
 women, before returning home, wished to take 
 advantage of the morning by making a tour of the 
 fashion shops. It was the younger, the blonde, 
 who made the proposal, and the brunette agreed, 
 though unwillingly. 
 
 "But we aren't going to buy anything, Olga," she 
 said. 
 
 "That makes no difference, godmother," replied 
 Olga. "We'll see what they're offering, and besides, 
 we'll see people. It'll help spend a pleasant time." 
 
 When they were already half way to the shops 
 they agreed to postpone their visit and turned 
 homeward. The thoughts of both women were 
 fluttering, like bluebirds around an orange-tree with 
 ripe, forbidden fruit, about the hawk-like Irurtia 
 and his ounces of gold. The younger was pessimis- 
 tic as to the outcome. Irurtia seemed intractable 
 and his money inaccessible. The brunette — the 
 godmother — though perhaps no more hopeful than 
 the other, repeated several times, as if to temper the 
 discouragement of her goddaughter: 
 
 "Let's wait till tomorrow. Perhaps the house 
 will attract him more than we do." 
 
 Approaching the door to their home they divined, 
 
 40 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 41 
 
 rajther than saw, behind the curtams of one of the 
 windows, four eyes peering at them. 
 
 Two women were awaiting, in fact, the return of 
 the other two. And from the window came an 
 anxious inquiring voice: 
 
 "How much? And when?" 
 
 With nothing more than a smile toward the cur- 
 tain as a reply, the godmother and her goddaughter 
 walked forward into the outer vestibule and reached 
 a spacious room furnished with antique pieces. The 
 women who had been waiting behind the curtain 
 remained seated on the window seats. 
 
 Those two women at the window were Eufemi^ 
 and Alcira Agualonga, the sisters of Olga's god- 
 mother Rosaura, and aunts to Olga. Eufemia, 
 Alcira, Rosaura and niece Glga lived in the manorial 
 structure which the latter two had just entered. 
 
 Rosaura, the youngest of the three Agualonga 
 sisters, was between thirty-six and thirty-seven; 
 Alcira was about forty-two and Eufemia, fifty. 
 Between Alcira and Eufemia had come Olga's 
 mother — now dead — and a man who had died a 
 tragic death from a shot during a hunting party. 
 Between Alcira and Rosaura, came the never suffi- 
 ciently estimated General Chicharra. 
 
 So, leaving out of account the wife of the cele- 
 brated general, it might be said that these three old 
 maids — Eufemia, Alcira and Rosaura — were the 
 only representatives of the formerly numerous and 
 wealthy Agualonga family. 
 
 Eufemia, the oldest — tall, thin, bony, pale and 
 sickly, was so bloodless that she looked as if made 
 of porcelain. Two purple rings surrounded her dark 
 
42 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 eyes. Her nose resembled a reaping-hook. Her 
 hair was of a bluish white — ash color. 
 
 Alcira was physically insignificant. Of medium 
 stature and with a tendency to corpulency; her 
 figure somewhat barrel-shaped, her hair dark, with 
 here and there a silver streak. Only her eyes shone 
 with the unquenched fires of youth — the eyes of a 
 maid of twenty. 
 
 Rosaura, like Alcira of medium build, had, also 
 like Alcira, a pair of heavenly black eyes; but 
 Rosaura's glance was filled with a soft glow and her 
 very long eyelashes and her half-closed eyelids im- 
 parted to her a melancholy appearance. Her 
 skin, of dull lustre, was of amber hue. Her nose, 
 delicate; her lips, rather full; her bust, ample; her 
 arms, plump. In her left cheek, near the corner of 
 her lips there was a pretty little oval-shaped mole. 
 Her hips were gracefully curved. She was, with her 
 thirty-six years, an appetizing woman, with lips and 
 breasts that still held temptation for man's caresses. 
 She was in the ripeness of her autumn. Excellent 
 fruit for a gourmand! 
 
 The three sisters — ingenuous and unknowing as 
 they were — -never could understand the evolution 
 toward democracy of that society in which they 
 lived. They continued ever to believe themselves, 
 socially, the best of the best — worthy, because of 
 their ancestors, of representing a super-caste. 
 Simple, deluded souls, they were filled with a feudal 
 pride and the kindness of a Sister of Charity. 
 
 The first Agualongas, the founders of the family, 
 came from Burgos and established themselves in 
 Costa-Firme during the seventeenth century 
 
THE AGUALONGAS ' 43 
 
 These primitive Agualongas grew rapidly wealthy 
 by sending pearls from Cubaga and Margarita to 
 Spain; or rather, to London via Spain, since the 
 Colony, during the peninsular regime, could trade 
 only with the mother country. The family later 
 acquired its greatest wealth in speculations with the 
 Guipuzcoan Company, which for a good many years 
 had a monopoly of the trade between Venezuela and 
 the mother country. 
 
 At the time of the first attempts toward inde- 
 pendence, in 1789 — the work of the patriots Gual 
 and Espana — and later, in 1806 and 1808, when 
 General Miranda disembarked, proclaiming war, the 
 Agualongas held aloof from these revolutionary out- 
 breaks, which were drowned in blood by the Spanish 
 government; but scarcely had the definitive hour of 
 independence struck, when Caracas deposed Cap- 
 tain General Emperam on the 19th of April, 1810, 
 and from that day onward began to govern itself, 
 thus providing Spanish America with an example 
 which it was not slow in following, driven onward 
 by the same reasons as had actuated Caracas — 
 whereupon the Agualongas, like a large number of 
 Venezuelan families, were split into two factions: the 
 one side was for the Republic — they were patriots; 
 the others, for Spain — they were royalists. The 
 first followed Miranda in the beginning, and later, 
 Bolivar; the second, Monteverde and Boves, and 
 afterward, Morillo. 
 
 The Agualongas suffered the fate of the rest of 
 Venezuela, where the war was fought more fiercely 
 and longer than in any other country of South 
 America. 
 
44 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The Agualonga patriots that fell into Spanish 
 hands were shot by Rosete, Zuazola, Morales, Boves, 
 Morilla; the Agualonga royalists that fell into the 
 hands of the patriots were shot by the Liberator and 
 his chief lieutenants of 1813 to 1817: Jose Feliz 
 Ribas, Arismendi, Marino, Bermudez, Piar. It was 
 the most violent epoch of the war to the death. 
 
 The Spanish juntos de secuestro ruined the Re- 
 publican Agualongas; the confiscations of the 
 Republic ruined the royalist Agualongas. 
 
 By the time the revolution had come to an end 
 in 1824, twenty Agualongas had disappeared in the 
 whirlwind of war; of all that numerous family there 
 remained but a single man and two sisters: all three 
 patriots. 
 
 The Republic, though in a ruinous condition, in- 
 demnified them as best it could: it presented two 
 estates to the man, as a reward for his services and 
 by way of payment overdue of military damages; 
 it did even more : it restored to the two women and 
 the commandant several urban and rural holdings, 
 which had been declared national property because 
 they had belonged to the royalist branch of the 
 Agualonga family and which, by reversion, came 
 back to the heirs and survivors of the family. 
 
 Of these two women, one married, and the other 
 died an old maid, at a very advanced age. The lat- 
 ter was named dona Hipolita, and was one of the 
 family's highly celebrated figures. 
 
 Commandant Agualonga was the grandfather of 
 Eufemia, Alcira, and Rosaura. 
 
 Under the favor of the first president of the 
 Republic, General Paez, the commandant, after the 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 45 
 
 war of Emancipation was over, made a considerable 
 fortune by exporting from the Plains of the East 
 young buUs, mules and horses to Trinidad, Jamaica, 
 Barbada, Saint-Thomas and other points of the 
 West Indies. 
 
 "The horse and the bull," he used to say, "were 
 our only allies during the Revolution; the horse car- 
 ried us across our deserts, and the bull fed us in our 
 poverty. To this very day, with all the sources of 
 our national prosperity parched by the war, and the 
 whole country in ruins, what remains to us? 
 Mules, horses, bulls, and the Plain that rears them." 
 
 Commandant Agualonga's children, heirs to his 
 name — some of them imbeciles — set out to squan- 
 der their patrimony in ostentatious festivities, trips 
 to Europe, revolts against the successors of Paez, 
 and in seeking honors for the family in Spain. Dona 
 Hipolita, a dyed-in-the-wool patriot, despised them 
 so much that she called them the Agua-sucias.^ 
 
 Lacking that practical, commercial spirit of the 
 seventeenth-century Agualongas, and lacking like- 
 wise the heroic talents of the Agualongas of the 
 Bolivian epic, the sons of the Commandant — those 
 whom aunt Hipolita had dubbed the Agua-sucias — 
 incapable of making a fortune as their peninsular 
 forbears had done, were just as incapable of pre- 
 serving their heritage; and not being able, like their 
 Caracas parents, to shine with their own light in the 
 political tempests, they sought the reflected light of 
 
 * Agualonga means, literally, long-water. Agua-sucia, fiKty 
 water. 
 
46 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 others and spent their lives soliciting in the Archives, 
 of Spain heraldic glory that they could not find. 
 
 Proud that their name should figure in the annals 
 of the Republic, they hoped, hke other unhappy 
 souls attacked by the same softening of the brain, 
 that their name had also figured in the annals of 
 Spanish history. They wished to be dukes, coimts, 
 marquises and barons; and in reality they were only 
 poor devils. 
 
 The glory of their family consisted in having 
 sacrificed twenty lives and a fortune for the inde- 
 pendence of the country. It seemed little to them. 
 Ignorant of the fact that the majority of Europe's 
 great names did not possess so clear an origin, the 
 degenerate Agualongas sighed for a strip of Castil- 
 ian parchment. They would have considered them- 
 selves happy if they could have found, for example, 
 a baronial coronet on the brow of some ancestor, 
 whom some monarch of Castile, or at least a favor- 
 ite of the monarch, had formerly crowned with an 
 authentic royal horn, or a simple horn of the 
 palace.* 
 
 Naturally they did not find what they deserved 
 to find. The first Agualongas were hard-working, 
 honest farmers of Burgos. Weary of laboring those 
 picturesque and fertile meadows of Arlanza for 
 others — of humiliating their own misery beneath 
 the harmonious arches of that opulent Cathedral — 
 of treaditig those neighboring mountain ranges that 
 saw the Cid administering severe punishment to the 
 Moors, without rising out of their poverty — 
 
 8 The horn, in Romance tongues, is the symbol of the decep- 
 tion of a husband by his wife and her lovers, — of cuckoldiy. 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 47 
 
 wearied of crossing from Valladolid to Burgos, from 
 Burgos to Valladolid — two of the brothers, the 
 youngest and cleverest, one day set out on the road 
 to Seville, and there, encoimtering no difficulty, 
 took passage for the Americas. Fortune, which is 
 conquered by determination and will, smiled at 
 them in Costa-Firme, whither they had turned 
 their prow. Such was their history. How were the 
 Agualongas of Caracas going to discover parchments 
 relating to the Agualongas of Burgos? 
 
 Nevertheless they were able to procure a wily, 
 rascally genealogist of Madrid, who, travelling 
 to Burgos, wove a most fantastic genealogy of 
 the Agualongas of Castile. According to that 
 family tree, recently planted by the famished and 
 scoimdrelly diligence of the Madrid expert, the 
 Agualongas of Burgos were "hidalgos of famous 
 nobility, with a record of service to the King our 
 sovereign, in these realms and in the Indies." 
 ' The result was an amusing complication. The 
 Agualongas, according to the tale hatched by the 
 Madrid lawyer, had been lords of Agua-Clara, a 
 little village of Castile. How had Agua-Clara been 
 transformed into Agualonga? Why, the matter was 
 very simple. Agua-Clara (i.e. Clear-water) became, 
 by error, Agua Larga (broad water) ; during the 
 course of time Agua Larga changed to Agualuenga 
 (long water) and Agualuenga became Agualonga. 
 
 The genealogical texture had its gaps, most cer- 
 tainly; but at the same time it looked genuine 
 enough. With a little good will and nearsighted- 
 ness one could easily believe in it. The Agualongas 
 of Caracas believed in it down to the last letter. 
 
48 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 with the best faith in the world. They had paid 
 the genealogist dearly, and on the genealogy that 
 had been, according to the lawyer, extracted from 
 national, provincial and private archives, shone the 
 red sealing-wax and black ink of various seals of 
 Spain's public offices. This was enough. The 
 Agualongas were bluebloods. 
 
 One of these blueblooded Agualongas — one of 
 the Agua-sucias, as dona Hipolita called them — 
 married in Madrid; another, in Caracas; another 
 became a Carmelite nun ; the rest died bachelors. 
 
 Among the children of the one who married in 
 Caracas were Rosaura, Alcira, Eufemia, the wife of 
 the incomparable General Chicharra, named Ger- 
 trudis, the man who had died tragically from a gun- 
 shot in a hunting party, and the mother of Olga. 
 Married to a German merchant by the name of 
 Emmerich, Olga's mother died the following year 
 in childbirth. 
 
 So that, leaving Gertrudis, Chicharra's wife, out 
 of the reckoning, Rosaura, Alcira and Eufemia were 
 the sole heirs to the name. 
 
 In their poverty there remained to them only the 
 memory of the family's opulence and traditions. 
 
 The three sisters, so distinct from one another 
 physica,lly, were morally much alike. This back- 
 ground of similarity, this moral family resemblance, 
 were brought about by their kindness, their pride 
 (which was tempered by a feeling of generous Chris- 
 tianity), and their inclination to sacrifice themselves 
 upon the altars of another's interests. 
 
 The three were like mothers to Olga Emmerich, 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 49 
 
 their niece. "My three mothers," she would call 
 them. 
 
 When, among their relations, any one fell sick or a 
 funeral took place, the three would spend their last 
 coin to fulfil their obligations, as their usual expres- 
 sion had it. And they grumbled not a little if they 
 were not treated in like manner. 
 
 The three knew by heart the history of all the 
 chief families in Caracas, and they would exchange 
 these tales among themselves or with persons of 
 their age and of their limited circle of old friends — 
 a circle which death and absence was making daily 
 narrower. But never did they insult anyone with 
 malicious tales; never did they repeat old scandals 
 to persons who did not know about them ; for count- 
 less weaknesses they always found an excuse, and 
 many a tale of infamy, as it crossed their lips, lost 
 that despicable character of a stain that may never 
 be eradicated. 
 
 Eufemia, the eldest, was the richest in anecdotes. 
 At the mere sight of a person she would recall his 
 father, his grandfather; through the history of a 
 famUy she could reach that of the country, and 
 through that of the country, that of the entire conti- 
 nent. 
 
 "You are the city archives," her sisters would 
 jestingly teU her. 
 
 She revered whatever referred to her forbears and 
 always kept alive the memory of aunt Hipolita, who 
 had inculcated in her that respect for the past, that 
 cult of certain persons of their own family and of 
 the resounding epochs of the native soil. 
 
 That aunt Hipolta was an old chatterbox, full of 
 
60 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 enthusiasm, and a fiery patriot. She had been born 
 together with the century, in 1800, and had died well 
 along in years, but sound of sense and clear in mem- 
 ory, in 1876. Neither Alcira nor Rosaura remem- 
 bered her. Rosaura was six years old when their 
 aunt died ; Alcira was about ten or twelve. On the 
 other hand, Eufemia was at that time a woman of 
 sweet and twenty. 
 
 Eufemia, therefore, often took pleasure in relat- 
 ing to her sisters anecdotes about the old woman. 
 She would tell them how aunt Hipolita, a contem- 
 porary of the war of Emancipation, had lived 
 through tragic hours; how she knew the famous men 
 of the day; how she was present at the birth of the 
 Republic and how illustrious survivors of the Boliv- 
 ian epic were fond of visiting her and recalling old 
 times — vistors like Jose Antonio Paez, Carlos 
 Soublette, Santiago Mariiio, Jose Feliz Blanco, 
 Jose Tadeo Monagas, Rafael Urdaneta, Bartolome 
 Salom. 
 
 "And it wasn't only the old men," Eufemia would 
 tell her sisters, "that came to evoke the memory of 
 the past in aunt Hipolita's company. Many of the 
 young men would be frequent visitors, coming to 
 hear details about the deeds and personalities of the 
 revolution. Rafael Maria Baralt and Felipe Lar- 
 razabal were among this number. Conversing with 
 both these gentlemen one afternoon, aunt Hipolita 
 expressed the opinion that the history of Venezuela, 
 outside of Venezuela, was yet to be written, and she 
 recalled some of the many Venezuelans who, from 
 the United States to Chile and the Argentine, filled 
 all America with theii\ name, their bravery, their 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 51 
 
 heroism and their disinterested service in the cause 
 of their own country's liberty and the liberty of 
 other nations. 
 
 " 'I knew Miranda/ the old woman would say, 
 'who was an official under Washington, and general 
 in France; he designed the tri-colored banner that 
 Bolivar carried triumphantly all over the conti- 
 nent — the banner that daring vessels of our 
 fatherland carried to the very coasts of Spain, 
 and under whose folds, you may be sure. South 
 America attained its independence. I knew 
 Mariano Montilla, who captured the plaza of 
 Cartagena in New Granada, and who served with 
 the Mexican patriots: I knew Sucre, the hero of 
 Ayacucho — I knew him as a very young man in 
 Cumana. in the year '14; Bartolome Salom, who 
 made the forts of Gallao surrender in 1826, always 
 used to come to the house in the company of Rafael^ 
 Urdaneta, ex-president of Great Colombia, and 
 Laurencio Silva, who triumphed at Junm. I knew 
 also Jacinto Lara, who came filled with pride from 
 Peru; Juancho Paz Castillo, who was colonel or 
 general in Chile and sub-chief of the general staff in 
 the Chilean- Argentine battle of Chacabuco ; and the 
 moody Matute, from Guarico, who with one of 
 Bolivar's La Guardia companies — a hundred and 
 seventy-three Venezuelans, sons of Apure and 
 Guarico — entered the Argentine Republic, de- 
 throned and expelled General Arenales, the gover- 
 nor of Salta, first aided and afterwards attacked and 
 destroyed General La Madrid, governor of Tucu- 
 man, conquered all the gauchos and non-gauchos 
 that opposed him, dominated the place at his own 
 
52 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 sweet pleasure for a long time, raised Cain, until he 
 was assassinated, together with the few Venezuelans 
 that remained, by a certain Facundo Quiroga, as bad 
 as Matute, or worse. I recall, as plainly as if they 
 were right now before me, Pedro Leon Torres, who 
 died in Ecuador, I believe, after the battle of 
 Bombana, in which he was wounded; Manuel 
 Valdes, who turned the tides of this very battle in 
 favor of his country, by scaling the volcano of Pasto 
 with his troops at the height of the strife over a 
 ladder of bayonets. I remember very clearly, too, 
 the grumbling Anzoategui, who crossed the Andes 
 with the Liberator and died in the Kingdom of New 
 Granada as a result of wounds received at Boyaca, 
 when Bolivar was conquering that kingdom. As to 
 Juan Jose Flores, of Puerto Cabello, who was presi- 
 dent of Ecuador, I didn't make his acquaintance 
 until long after the war was over, as he passed 
 through Caracas: General Carlos Soublette brought 
 him to the house. I also knew a Vene"Xuelan, a 
 Spanish servant here, who afterward tried to be the 
 Liberator of Cuba. His name was Lopez — Narciso 
 Lopez. He died on the gallows.' " 
 
 Alcira and Rosaura found aunt Hipolita inex- 
 haustible. 
 
 "Inexhaustible," replied Eufemia. 
 
 And she would recall another episode or evoke 
 some other memory. It was not without a certain 
 emotion that Eufemia related to her sisters and 
 her relatives some of the recollections of the old 
 woman. 
 
 When anyone in the city needed one of those 
 dates that escape the historian but are preserved by 
 
THE AGUALONGAS 63 
 
 tradition, he was directed to Eufemia. She would 
 inform the inquirer that Jose Feliz Ribas and Carlos 
 Soublette had blue eyes; she even told them just how 
 taU the gigantic figure of Jose Francisco Bermudez 
 was — that the poet Vicente Salias and the com- 
 poser Landaeta, authors of the national hymn, both 
 died on the scaffold in the year 1814, and that in the 
 year 1814 there remained but a single student in the 
 Caracas Seminary, because all the others had died 
 in the war. 
 
 Eufemia, then, was an almost cloistered old 
 woman who lived in the memory of her family and 
 her fatherland more than in the tragic reality of 
 every-day hfe. 
 
 As she recalled aunt Hipolita she became as in- 
 exhaustible as aunt Hipolita herself, averred her sis- 
 ters, laughing. But Alcira and Rosaura felt for 
 their older sister not only affection, but respect. 
 
 Her authority was accepted without question. It 
 was she, who, tearing a piece out of her own heart, 
 had decided that the old family mansion should be 
 offered to Irurtia, so that Olga might be married de- 
 cently, "like a princess." 
 
 When Olga and Rosaura entered that morning 
 into the large room where Alcira and Eufemia were 
 awaiting them, the latter, despite the pessimism 
 portrayed upon the faces of the arrivals, repeated, 
 with a pale trace of a smile, the question she had 
 asked from the window: 
 
 "How much? And when?" 
 
 Then, before Rosaura could reply, Olga began to 
 relate their meeting with Irurtia. 
 
 "Don't imagine that this don Camilo Irurtia, 
 
54 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 king of the house speculators, is an agreeable per- 
 sonage. ... A pig, a hairy old lizard. ... I 
 don't think we can do any business with him 
 unless we let him have the whole place for four 
 pesetas. . . " 
 
VI 
 A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 
 
 IT was about three in the afternoon. Rosaura, 
 Alcira and Eufemia, seated in the corridor, in 
 the shade of a thick, fraigrant honeysuckle vine, 
 around a yeUow rattan table, were sewing a dress 
 for their niece, Olga. Without removing their eyes 
 or their needles from their sewing, they discussed 
 the impression that the house would make upon 
 Irurtia. The usurer was expeqted at any moment. 
 
 Olga Emmerich, a few feet away, leaning back in 
 her comfortable chair with her legs spread out, took 
 no part in the conversation of her aunts. She was 
 immersed in a novel by Georges Ohnet. 
 
 Olga had given her opinion of the matter on the 
 previous day, and she did not budge a hair's breadth 
 from it. A hundred times since the evening before 
 she had repeated it : 
 
 "That old bloodsucker will buy nothing:" 
 
 This was why her aunts', conversation did not 
 interest her. 
 
 Rosaura, although little more credulous than Olga, 
 was trying, like the generous soul she was, to infuse 
 spirit into the others, and the result was that she 
 infused it into herself as well. 
 
 "Let us hope," she kept repeating, "that the house 
 will attract him more than our persons did." 
 
 55 
 
56 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Eufemia, pale, with rings under her eyes, sickly, 
 her hair ashen gray and her face all fretted with 
 wrinkles, answered Rosaura's forced optimism with 
 her own sincere optimism: 
 
 "I really believe that Irurtia will buy, or that he'll 
 agree to exchange it for some smaller house ..." 
 
 "He certainly will agree to that," interrupted 
 Alcira, smiling. "Change it for a smaller house? 
 Of course he'll consent. Even I, who am surely no 
 such miser as Irurtia, would gladly do business of 
 that sort." 
 
 "For the Lord's sake, don't be so sUly," broke in 
 Eufemia, explaining her thought. "I say that he'll 
 exchange it for a smaller house, giving us a certain 
 amount of money in addition. Enough for poor 
 Olga to get a decent trousseau with, so that we may 
 give her a wedding fit for a princess." 
 
 The three women at the sanje time turned their 
 eyes toward their niece, looking for a smile or a 
 glance of affectionate agreement. Olga, engrossed 
 in her novel, continued to read. Nevertheless, she 
 had heard very, distinctly all that Eufemia had said, 
 and out of the corner of her eyes she looked at the 
 maternal heads of her aunts, directed toward her. 
 
 Alcira began to speak : 
 
 "Well, I think that Irurtia ..." 
 
 But she was unable to finish. A harsh, reproving 
 cry interrupted her words. 
 
 "Alcira, take care! You're letting the cloth drag 
 on the ground!" 
 
 It was Olga Emmerich, in a rage, because one fold 
 of the material had slipped to the earth. 
 
 The three women agreed that Olga was right. 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 57 
 
 What carelessness! And they continued to sew 
 with diligent watchfulness. 
 
 All at once Rosaura, as if recalling an important 
 detail that had slipped her mind, asked: 
 
 "What shall we serve to Irurtia?" 
 
 "Really," observed Alcira, "what shall we serve 
 him?" 
 
 "How about a cup of tea?" asked Eufemia. 
 
 "No," replied Alcira. "It's too early for tea. 
 Tea, at four?" 
 
 "A sangaree,^ then?" queried Rosaura. "Beer?" 
 
 The problem was beyond solution. They re- 
 solved to consult Olga. The latter jumped to her 
 feet at the first word addressed to her; ill-humoredly 
 she threw her book upon the rocker and in the ugli- 
 est mood imaginable she replied: 
 
 "I've been listening to your nonsensical talk for 
 the past quarter of an hour. You're a flock of silly 
 geese; common old know-nothings that put one to 
 shame. The idea of offering refreshment to Irurtia! 
 Where did you ever get such a ridiculous idea? You 
 belong to the past century. You don't go ahead; 
 you never learn." 
 
 The three women looked at one another without 
 understanding very well either what was said or 
 what could be the reason for this outbreak of re- 
 proof; each desired to cast upon the other two all 
 blame for the blunder that they did not understand. 
 
 Olga continued, like an unending downpour: 
 
 "What should we offer Irurtia, and why? He's 
 an old usurer who's coming on his business — a thief 
 
 ^ Sangria (literally, a bleeding). Wine, and sometimes brandy, 
 sweetened and spiced. 
 
58 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 coming to rob us. And we must run before him and 
 (iffer our blood to the bloodsucker — our glass of 
 sherry to the rascal. Here, my fine sir hairy lizard, 
 have a nice little cake. Here's the tea, senor 
 Irurtia. What grace! What tact! Only you silly 
 women could think of such absurdities." 
 
 Eufemia, trying to assume a dignified mien and 
 feigning a terrible air, replied : 
 
 "Why see, my child. To receive properly a per- 
 son who comes to visit us, even though it be on busi- 
 ness, places nobody in a ridiculous position, nor is 
 it such bad form as you seem to imaging Long 
 before you came into the world we knew aU about 
 social etiquette." 
 
 Olga burst into artificial, mocking laughter. 
 
 "Social etiquette? Yes, the customs of the old, old, 
 hoary days, when they drank sugared water at 
 balls and when the most chic thing for couples to do 
 was to go to the Portachuelo and eat pan-de-homo." 
 
 "Better times those were," replied Eufemia, "than 
 these days of insolence and ill-breeding." 
 
 Alcira and Rosaura remained gravely silent. 
 
 As Olga began anew hei; attack upon all three, 
 Alcira exclaimed in tones that tried to be threaten- 
 ing: 
 
 "Olga!" 
 
 Rosaura, not to be outdone, and in order not to 
 be acdused afterward by her two sisters of having 
 with her silence sided with their niece, desiring to 
 bring about peace, exclaimed like Alcira, but in a 
 less imperious vioce: 
 
 "Olga!" 
 
 The most severe of the three without a doubt. 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 59 
 
 Eufemia, as white as a sheet, spoke sententiously 
 and reticently: 
 
 "Bring up crows and they'll peck out your eyes." 
 
 Olga roared with fury: 
 
 "Crows, you say? So I'm a crow, am I? So you 
 people have brought up a crow who now pecks your 
 eyes out! Poor little victims! Fortunately I'll 
 soon be married. Fortunately the crow will take 
 to its wings and fly away from her three mothers. 
 Her three mothers will watch her departure not 
 with hollow eyes, but with dry ones." 
 
 And assuming a dramatic pose, as she stalked into 
 the rooms, she exclaimed: 
 
 "Unhappy I, who have never known a mother!" 
 
 The three women exchanged glances anew. Tears 
 sprang to Rosaura's eyes. Alcira chided Eufemia: 
 
 "You are very harsh with Olga. You say al- 
 together too bitter things to her." 
 
 The poor old woman contritely agreed. . 
 
 Rosaura, arising, followed her niece, who had 
 thrown herself into bed. When Olga heard the ap- 
 proaching footsteps she covered her face with her 
 hands, as if bowed down by a grievous burden. A 
 few moments later Alcira came in and sat down, like 
 Rosaura, at the edge of the bed. The aunts tried 
 to console Olga. The niece, mute, hurt, scornful, 
 would not uncover her face. At last Rosaura said 
 to her: 
 
 "Wait, my dear little daughter. I'll go and call 
 Eufemia to make up with you. 
 
 And she went out after her. 
 
 "No, I'll not go," Eufemia began. 
 
 A few seconds later, bringing her pale, old face 
 
60 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 close to the youthful, fair cheek of Olga, she was im- 
 ploring the girl in a voice choked with tears. 
 
 "Forgive me, my angel, the harsh words I spoke to 
 you. You know that you're the joy of our house- 
 hold. We love you so much ! " 
 
 Nor did the old woman exaggerate.' Olga was 
 the idol — and the tyrant — of those three old 
 maids. 
 
 An orphan from the cradle, she had never known 
 any other maternal affection than theirs. These 
 women had dedicated themselves to the infant; 
 for eighteen years they had vied with one another in 
 showing her tenderness, in pampering her, serving 
 her, loving her. 
 
 Rosaura, the youngest of the Agualongas, was 
 scarcely Olga's present age — eighteen springs — 
 when Olga came into the world. Emmerich's wife 
 preferred Rosaura to all her sisters because of the 
 young girl's gentle, loving, even, kind nature, and 
 even before Olga was bom, she promised that Ro- 
 saura would be the godmother of the coming child. 
 After Olga's mother had died, the German Emmer- 
 ich, as well as the Agualongas, respected the departed 
 woman's wishes, and Rosaura was the godmother of 
 the new-born child. In the very bloom of her life, 
 cradled in illusions, beautiful, courted by many, this 
 self-sacrificing woman not only did not shirk her 
 duties, or what she looked upon as her godmotherly 
 duties in respect to the little orphan, but she served 
 the girl as mother and nurse at first, and later, as 
 mother, governess and teacher. 
 
 How many times had she given up attending a 
 ball, though she was already dressed to go, because 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 61 
 
 Olga had burst into tears and would fall asleep 
 only in her godmother's arms. In the course of 
 time Rosaura taught her how to read and gave her 
 the first lessons in singing. When Olga began to go 
 to school, Rosaura would take her there every morn- 
 ing and fetch her home every afternoon. She would 
 never trust to the mercenary attentions of a servant. 
 Olga's servant was Rosaura. Afterward, when Olga 
 made her debut, Rosaura was her guide, her lady- 
 in-waiting, her mentor; and when Olga, at the 
 age of fourteen, had her first sweetheart, it was 
 Rosaura who like a faithful watchdog vigilantly 
 guarded over the calf-and-puppy love. But she had 
 to disguise her surveillance and even pretend blind- 
 ness; her niece would grow exasperated and fume 
 to feel those Argus eyes about her; she knew how 
 to conduct herself — she desired full freedom. 
 Alcira and Eufemia would say to Rosaura: 
 
 "Give her a little liberty. You run chances of 
 losing her affection." And poor Rosaura, jealous 
 and loving, would at the cost of much suffering relax 
 her vigilance, and would confess privately to her 
 sisters, almost weeping: 
 
 "You are right. I myself feel that my solicitude 
 rouses her anger. I must close my eyes. I am 
 afraid I'll lose her affection." 
 
 But the greatest sacrifice Rosaura placed upon the 
 altars of this affection was not that of her youth, 
 but that of her destiny. A rich, handsome young 
 man whom she loved and whom she was ready to 
 marry, refused to consent to the marriage if Rosaura 
 brought Olga with her. 
 
 "She can live with Eufemia and Alcira," he had 
 
62 TEtE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 said. "You'll see her daily, or almost every day. 
 Neither she nor you will lose by it. But have her 
 in our home? Before long we'll have our own chil- 
 dren and then it would be a regular kennel. I my- 
 self, perhaps, blinded by paternal love, may become 
 unjust toward Olga. I'll offend her by showing 
 preference for our own children. So for her own 
 sake, make up your mind to separate from your 
 godchild; make up your mind to settle down in 
 your own home, to fulfil your destiny upon earth, to 
 be happy." 
 
 Deaf to all reason, and renouncing her happiness, 
 Rosaura, as between marriage and Olga, finally 
 chose Olga. 
 
 In reality it was not only Rosaura who biumed 
 her existence, like a grain of myrrh, before the 
 blonde orphan. Alcira and Eufemia both did al- 
 most the same. Their affection for the child was 
 practically their whole life. From her cradle Olga 
 had been the center of aU the feelings of that house- 
 hold. Her whim was law — the law. The soul of 
 these spinsters found an outlet for their maternal 
 instinct, which is latent in every woman, in the love 
 of their niece — of that frail, blonde, pretty, help- 
 less little creature, who had no protection or fortune 
 other than they could give her, and who had no 
 other father, mother, sister or brother than they. 
 
 The Agualongas were poor, and concealed their 
 penury at times with grace, at others with extreme 
 stratagem and common wUes. 
 
 The house garden helped them to live and to 
 pay off a debt for Olga — the only thing she had 
 inherited from the German, and payment of which 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 63 
 
 required many years. They made wreaths for 
 burials; bouquets for banquets; fancy floral adorn- 
 ments for weddings. The religious women gave 
 them orders for baskets of roses and bunches of 
 lUies for guardian saints and holy images on reli- 
 gious feast days; and whoever went on a visit to the 
 cemetery first came to the Agualonga house for 
 a supply of flowers. 
 
 When Olga had completed her fourteenth or 
 fifteenth year and began to go out into the world, 
 she was filled with shame to think that her aunts 
 made a living from such a business, and, out of 
 deference to Olga, the business was given up. 
 
 The modest income of the Agualongas was thus 
 reduced to the tiny pension that the government 
 granted them as unmarried nieces of the illustrious 
 patriot. 
 
 Olga found this more chic. And in deference to 
 Olga's chic, the Agualongas reduced their personal 
 expenditures stiU more. On the other hand, Olga, 
 as far as was possible, had more than enough of 
 everything she cared for, especially superfluous 
 things. 
 
 That debt of another which for years and years, 
 by dint of economy, the Agualongas had been pay- 
 ing, constituted a silent and protracted act of hero- 
 ism that neither they nor anybody else were ever 
 able to appreciate. 
 
 The German Emmerich — an inveterate drunk- 
 ard — died of cirrhosis, a year after his wife. The 
 few interests that he left to Olga were in a hopeless 
 tangle. Emmerich's debts mounted higher than his 
 assets. The lawyer who was consulted by the 
 
64 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Agualongas explained the state of affairs very 
 clearly: 
 
 "It would be better for you to renounce this in- 
 heritance. Let the creditors settle it among them- 
 selves as best they can." 
 
 The Agualongas, however, did not choose to fol- 
 low his advice. As the liabihties were far in excess 
 of the assets, the Agualongas were compelled to sell, 
 through the lawyer, everything that had been left 
 by the drunkard of a German; and afterward, for 
 years and years, they had to keep on laying aside a 
 fund. That sum, though not in itself very large, 
 was great enough to these poor women. They la- 
 bored unremittingly, even going so far as to deny 
 themselves the most necessary articles; but at last 
 they succeeded in paying off the entire debt. Then 
 they breathed with relief, and even told to their rela- 
 tives the outcome of that mute, intimate tragedy 
 which had stretched over so many years. At last 
 they had finished payment! 
 
 The recompense, the reward for that sacrifice 
 consisted in expressions like the following from some 
 of their friends, made in the very presence of the 
 three sisters: 
 
 "To accept such a legacy under such conditions 
 was an act of haste." 
 
 "It was not hasty at all; we thought it over and 
 discussed it fully," said Rosaura. 
 
 "Then it was sheer foUy." 
 
 "It was not foUy, for we did it in full realization 
 of what it meant, and well informed by our lawyer," 
 retorted Alcira. 
 
 "Then it was crazy." 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 65 
 
 "It was not crazy," countered Eufemia. "We 
 wished that the name Olga was gomg to bear should 
 be unsullied — an honorable name. In memory 
 of our sister, and for the sake of our Olga, we 
 did what we did. And we're not sorry for it, 
 thank God." 
 
 The manorial house in which they lived, which 
 was all that remained to them of their own heritage, 
 was aJl they possessed. After repeated delibera- 
 tions they resolved to sell it, so that they might 
 marry off Olga in style; if they could not sell it, at 
 least to exchange it, according to Eufemia's plan, 
 which had been ratified by the rest, for a smaller 
 house, receiving something in compensation for the 
 difference. This was the most practical way out of 
 the difficulty. Thus they -would be able to marry 
 Olga "decently," as Eufemia put it, and the three 
 women, already on the way to old age, would not 
 be left to end their days in the street, under the 
 starry heavens. 
 
 It was with grief that they were to part with that 
 shady, musty, colonial, spacious, delightful house, 
 surrounded by flowers and trees, with high, airy, 
 light rooms, through whose windows was wafted the 
 perfume of magnolias, lilies, roses, geraniums, night- 
 blooming cereus, jessamine, heliotrope, petunias; 
 they were to leave that pond where they bathed at 
 dawn, in a delicious, odorous water white with the 
 jessamine; those corridors into which the sun filtered 
 through fragrant honeysuckle and bluebells; those 
 patios; that garden where the birds came to peck at 
 the ripe golden guava fruit, where the pomegranate- 
 tree with its fruit of the half -open lips and the pink 
 
66 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 little teeth smiled to the sky, where limes and grape- 
 fruit swelled like a nurse's breast, where brown, 
 sweet-smelling medlar-trees ripened in the sun and 
 the fruit of the avocado softened its oily pulp of 
 vegetable butter. 
 
 It was with grief, then, that they were to leave 
 the hereditary colonial mansion founded by their 
 seventeenth-century forbears and miraculously ran- 
 somed, after the Revolution, by the Agualongas of 
 the nineteenth century. Those walls, according to 
 the plans of the sisters, had been meant to serve 
 them as a haven of refuge in their old age; those 
 walls preserved for the old maids a thousand recol- 
 lections of their youth; those walls kept the secret 
 of their ancestors; through those walls the senti- 
 mental sisters, amid their isolation, could under- 
 stand one another in their union with the past. 
 
 But Olga had to be married "decently, like 
 a princess." For Olga, and for her happmess, 
 every sacrifice appeared microscopic, not worth a 
 straw. 
 
 Alcira and Eufemia left their niece lying in 
 the bed. Olga had deigned to pardon Eufemia 
 without saying so, speaking to her in token of 
 peace. 
 
 Alcira and Eufemia went back to the corridor to 
 gather their sewing materials. Irurtia would be 
 there at any moment. It was four. And the two 
 were picking up muslin, thimbles and spools, when 
 somebody knocked at the street door. 
 
 Olga, bounding up from bed, began to arrange 
 her hair before the closet mirror. 
 
 Rosaura went out to open the door. 
 
A RARE TYPE OF NIECE 67 
 
 With his sUk hat in his right hand, and his short, 
 dark green frock coat, Irurtia appeared in the cor- 
 ridor. 
 
 Through the button-hole of his celluloid collar 
 stuck the huge copper head of a huge collar-button. 
 
VII 
 
 THE TIGER'S NOT SO UGLY AS 
 HE'S PAINTED 
 
 THE Agualongas were in ecstasy. There were 
 going to be able to celebrate Olga's marriage 
 "decently"; they were to be enabled to marry her 
 off in great style, "like a princess." Irurtia had 
 agreed to exchange the ancient family dwelling for 
 a smaller and more modest place, giving them a 
 certain sum to make up the difference. 
 
 On the day following his first inspection of the 
 house, Irurtia came with Berroteran, his trusted 
 master mason, that phlegmatic, cunning Berroteran 
 who answered the miser's arrogance with sweet 
 smiles and who, according to the workingmen's 
 words, "had sliced the old man's navel," — which is 
 to say, had been clever enough to win the confidence 
 of the mistrusting curmudgeon. 
 
 The mason had a ladder raised, and between him 
 and Irurtia they examined the structure most con- 
 scientiously, from the parlor to the corral, from the 
 foundations to the roof. Not a beam was left un- 
 noted, not a transom overlooked, not a column un- 
 measured, not a stone Iminspected. Irurtia together 
 with Berroteran climbed up the ladder, despite his 
 fifty years, pointing out to the Agualongas, who 
 watched him from below, certain defacements that 
 he had discovered. From time to time the two men 
 
 68 
 
NOT SO UGLY AS PAINTED 69 
 
 furtively exchanged words or glances of connivance, 
 which did not escape the Agualongas, causing them 
 to conceive the most smiling hopes. 
 
 Foreseeing a highly profitable stroke of business, 
 Irurtia admitted to them that the transaction was 
 possible. After a thousand sly observations meant 
 to diminish the value of the splendid colonial manor 
 in the eyes of the joint owners he let fall these 
 words: 
 
 "I have various houses that might suit your pur- 
 pose. As for the sum to be added to even up the 
 exchange, I imagine that we'll come to an under- 
 standing. I may suppose that you don't aspire to 
 tear out my liver." 
 
 Tear out Irurtia's liver! 
 
 The wily don Camilo, after having exchanged a 
 few words with the Agualongas, saw that these poor 
 women would be a certain prey in his hands — doves 
 in the talons of the hawk. 
 
 No sooner did Irurtia show his disposition to 
 barter the house for another than the poor women 
 shone with joy, in the belief that Irurtia was going 
 to give them a place in which to dwell and a fortune 
 with which to marry off Olga. 
 
 Having finished his visit of most minute inspec- 
 tion, after registering every detail of the structure, 
 don Camilo returned the following afternoon to the 
 Agualonga home. He wished to learn how much 
 money, more or less, the women desired. 
 
 "If it's a large sum," he said, "I'll not be able to 
 give it, and you'll have to look for another barterer. 
 People think I'm a millionaire. They're mistaken. 
 Why, at times I'm badly in want of one hundred 
 
70 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 pesos. Nobody would ever think so; but that's 
 the truth. What I own, I own in houses, and houses 
 don't sweat gold nor can they be sold at just the 
 moment when a man wants such and such an 
 amount." 
 
 "We know that very well," commented Olga iron- 
 ically. 
 
 "You know that. So much the better. Then 
 you'll not ask pears from the elm-tree." 
 
 The Angualongas reassured him. 
 
 They aspired to no exorbitant sums. They merely 
 desired a house that would be something more than 
 a dingy, poorly-furnished, ill-smelling hut, where 
 they might live in comfort, and a little bit of money 
 that they might marry off Olga in decent style. 
 That was all. 
 
 "Marry off Olga in decent style?" asked Irurtia. 
 "What do you call marrying off Olga in decent style? 
 How much do you require to marry off Olga in 
 decent style?" 
 
 Olga was provoked, and replied caustically: 
 
 "Enough to marry her off in more sumptuous 
 fashion than you'd employ for your own marriage." 
 
 Irurtia frowned. 
 
 The Agualongas noticed the bad effect produced 
 by, their niece's bluntness. As they were by nature 
 kind, insinuating, flattering, and since their own 
 interest was now added to their innate gentleness, 
 they tried to efface the bad impression. 
 
 "Olga means," began Rosaura, "that we, with 
 more money, would do things less well than you; 
 that you, in similar circumstanceSj would need less 
 money than we, because you know life better." 
 
NOT SO UGLY AS PAINTED 71 
 
 Irurtia smiled at the explanation, eyeing Rosaura 
 fixedly. He was already opening his mouth to reply 
 when Alcira, anxious to shift the conversation, re- 
 marked to Irurtia with pretended bruskness: 
 
 "You're a bachelor, don Camilo, if I'm not mis- 
 taken." 
 
 "Bachelor," answered Irurtia, somewhat taken 
 aback. 
 
 "Ah ! You didn't care to marry." 
 
 Once more Olga intruded with her malicious 
 tongue: 
 
 "You would have made some woman so happy." 
 
 Irurtia was out of his element. A master of him- 
 self with eagle eyes in the matter of business, he 
 felt himself floundering before these women when it 
 came to talk to love and marriage; he stammered 
 without being able to find the right and fitting reply. 
 
 Rosaura came anew to his assistance. 
 
 "Senor Irurtia has had no time to waste upon 
 frivolities. His life has surely been one of arduous 
 toil." 
 
 Euf emia added : 
 
 "That's true. And that is why God has protected 
 him and granted him a fortune." 
 
 Irurtia barely heard Euiemia's words; but he 
 beheld an open door in Rosaura's, and through that 
 wide-open door he plunged: 
 
 "You are right," he exclaimed, turning to Rosaura, 
 who inspired him with more confidence than the 
 others. "You are right. My life has been one of 
 arduous toil." 
 
 As all eyes and ears awaited him in wrapt atten- 
 tion, Irurtia began to tell the story of his life. 
 
72 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Ever since I was a little boy I have done nothing 
 but work hard. At the age of fifteen I entered a 
 business house, as an employee without salary — 
 almost as a servant. Later I got a place in a shop. 
 There, at the end of a long time I was earning 
 scarcely forty bolivares per month. It was very 
 little; still, it was something. As I had an inclina- 
 tion for figures, and as that firm got the best of 
 every living creature, they gave me a position as 
 assistant book-keeper. When, two years later, the 
 head-bookkeeper died, I took his place, although 
 at a lower salary than my predecessor. I began to 
 be looked upon as a personage in that business. 
 Out of my savings more than once I loaned money 
 to fellow employees. Some paid me back; others 
 didn't. At last people even said that I practised 
 usury. Since I could see no future ahead of me in 
 the place, I left. Then I devoted my time to buying 
 articles cheap and selling them dearer. A hammer, 
 for example, would cost me a peseta; I'd have a 
 handle fixed to it, find a buyer, and sell it for one 
 and a half, or two. The profit was very small; but 
 two pesetas here and three pesetas there amount to 
 something, and if a fellow isn't a spendthrift, he can 
 save them. Afterward, having acquired a bit more 
 money, I dealt in jewelry; later still, in houses. I 
 have spent my life, as you say, in hard work. From 
 six in the morning to six at night I've always, almost 
 always, been at hard work, ever since I was fifteen 
 up to the present day, when I've just passed fifty. 
 So how was I to have time to think of love affairs?" 
 And turning again to Rosaura, he repeated: 
 "You are right when you say that my life has been 
 spent in hard toil." 
 
NOT SO UGLY AS PAINTED 73 
 
 It had never occurred to Irurtia to talk of himself, 
 with the exception of one other time, when he had 
 spoken with Tomasa. It caused him pleasure un- 
 utterable to have such distinguished ladies listen 
 with interest and even gestures of admiration while 
 he, without any adornments, told them the story 
 of his sordid, heroic life as a person of prey. 
 
 He was flattered most of all when, after he had 
 finished his recital, Eufemia said to him, in tones 
 of genuine conviction : 
 
 "Senor Irurtia, you are a hero of labor." 
 
 And his feeling of pleasure rose even a point 
 higher when Rosaura, in tones of the most sincere 
 admiration, repeated: 
 
 "A hero of labor." 
 
 These words fell into the heart of the usurer like 
 plentiful rain upon parched soil. They were like 
 the approval of an entire existence; they effaced 
 stains; they purified the scum and sublimated the 
 money-lender to the heights of heroism. He, 
 Irurtia, was a hero of labor. 
 
 Being a practical man, without any scruples, don 
 Camilo never accepted formulas as payment, nor was 
 he a prey to sentimentality, nor did words lead him 
 to good or evil, nor did he ever have any aim other 
 than his purely personal interests; but this appro- 
 bation from the lips of such pure women, from per- 
 sons representing the flower of society, redeemed 
 Irurtia in his own eyes from all blame or stain. It 
 was sanction itself. 
 
 Men, even the most knavish and despicable of 
 them, cannot live without public esteem. Irurtia, 
 despite his gold, did not merit it, nor had he ever 
 
74 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 known it. There comes a moment in the lives of 
 these men who lack nothing, when they feel the need 
 of their fellow man's appreciation. Even more: 
 persons whom public opinion considers most hope- 
 less are wont to be most hungry for social consider- 
 ation. And they are likewise the ones who are most 
 grateful for it. 
 
 Irurtia had not come in quest of homage; but this 
 revindication of his whole life, through women's 
 lips, flattered him exceedingly. He felt, at that 
 moment, just like a fish in the water — very much at 
 ease; even more — completely happy. 
 
 When he left, he carried with him the most excel- 
 lent impression of that family. The Agualongas 
 seemed to him the most amiable women in the 
 world. And Rosaura especially loomed large in his 
 recollection, for she had twice come to his aid against 
 the sarcasm and the caustic remarks of her niece. 
 
 He walked through the street all smiles, greeting 
 his aequaintances with unwonted amiability. 
 
 Drawing near to his cottage he noticed Mata- 
 moro's nag tied to the window. It did not occur to 
 him that the animal might be robbed, and he dashed 
 into the narrow vestibule, shouting: 
 
 "Priend Matamoros, friend Matamoros: I know 
 that you're here." 
 
 And before he had finished grasping Cirilo's hand 
 he asked, talkatively, almost effusively: 
 
 "Do you declare Tomasa recovered? I hope so, 
 for the sake of her health and your reputation." 
 
 "We do whatever we can, don Camilo; but an old 
 case of neglected rheumatism doesn't disappear over 
 night." 
 
NOT SO UGLY AS PAINTED 75 
 
 The brown-skinned mestee replied in the best of 
 humor, flattered at bottom; but his thick eyebrows 
 and his truculent aspect made him look, despite 
 himself, as if he were about to roar. 
 
 Tomasa, who was present, lost heart and said, 
 sighing: 
 
 "Matamoros means that there's no cure for this." 
 
 Matamoros protested emphatically. He had said 
 no such thing. Now his eyes reaUy clouded. His 
 manner became formidable, and his look that of an 
 enraged wolf. He, not have self-confidence? Never 
 had such foUy occurred to him. 
 
 Irurtia calmed Tomasa with honied words. 
 
 He even asked Matamoros whether it would do 
 any good to send Tomasa to San Juan de los Morros 
 or to Las Trincheras to take sulphur baths. 
 
 "But Tomasa hasn't syphilis," protested the 
 native doctor, fearing that his prey would escape 
 him. 
 
 Then he added, in tones of conviction: 
 
 "A little patience; I'U cure her." 
 
 The old woman had lost faith in Matamoros and 
 in his mixtures and doses. No sooner had he left 
 than she made a blunt confession to Camilo: 
 
 "He's of the opinion that I'm better; but I don't 
 believe it. Now he wants me to take injections of 
 guamacho. He left the plant over there. But I'U 
 take none of his remedies. That man, although he 
 says the contrary, will not cure me." 
 
 Irurtia set about to convince her that Matamoros 
 was the great genius of Medicine and that she, 
 Tomasa, was almost well and as nimble on her feet 
 as a ballet dancer. 
 
76 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 And finally he promised that he would send her 
 to Macuto or Maiquetia. The sea would complete 
 her recovery. The sea was the most competent of 
 doctors. 
 
 That night, at table, he kept on talking in an 
 unending flow of words and in most optimistic 
 strain; yet in reality he spoke absent-mindedly, 
 with his thoughts elsewhere. 
 
 Already in bed, he put out the light and began to 
 review in his mind the houses that he could offer 
 to the Agualongas. "I prefer," he said to himself, 
 "to give them a good house and very little money. 
 If I give them too much money, I'll be forced to 
 give them a ramshackle barn. They'd spend all the 
 money on theirvniece, who isn't worth a straw. No. 
 Let them spend as little as possible on that young 
 harpy and rather let those worthy ladies enjoy a 
 comfortable home in their old age." 
 
 He feU asleep later than usual. 
 
 He dreamed that a horrible demon was piercing 
 him with a fork of five sharp prongs. That demon 
 smiled with a malevolent, sardonic smile. Its face 
 was the fair countenance of Olga. But an angel, 
 fluttering its white wings, descends from the parting 
 heavens, launches a thunderbolt at that demon or 
 she-devil, burying her in the earth and crowns the 
 victim with a green laurel branch. Irurtia felt the 
 fresh leaves and the angel's hands upon his brow. 
 This rescuing angel with the immaculate, snow^ 
 white wings had the blinking, dreamy eyes, the soft 
 skin, the oval mole and the selfsame face of Rosaura. 
 
 The Agualongas, on their part, began to discuss 
 the interview as soon as Irurtia left that afternoon. 
 
NOT SO UGLY AS PAINTED 77 
 
 They laughed till their sides hurt at the thought 
 of don Camilo mounted on the ladder pointing out 
 the places that needed repair. 
 
 "That old fellow," said Olga, "produced a horrible 
 antipathy in me, with his little rats' eyes, his Adam's 
 apple that bobs up and down, his copper collar-but- 
 ton, his greenish frock-coat and his thief's air." 
 
 "As for me," commented Rosaura, "the poor fel- 
 low gives me 'the creeps.' " 
 
 "He's a hard worker," said Eufemia. 
 
 Alcira, translating the composite thought of all 
 with respect to Irurtia, expressed the opinion that 
 he seemed less bad than his reputation, employing 
 the popular saying: 
 
 "The tiger's not so ugly as he's painted." 
 
 Rosaura, standing behind Olga's chair, caressed 
 the girl's cheeks with loving strokes, as if her niece 
 were but a little child, considering it certain that 
 Irurtia, although he had not uttered a word about 
 it up to the present moment, would provide a veri- 
 table palace for the aunts and a tidy little sum for 
 her goddaughter's wedding. 
 
 The three old maids placed all faith in the realiza- 
 tion of the exchange. The three were filled with 
 ecstasy at the thought that they could marry off 
 Olga decently, "like a princess." 
 
VIII 
 OLGA'S SACRIFICE 
 
 DURING the two weeks that followed, the 
 Agualongas visited from ten to a dozen of 
 Irurtia's houses. None of these pleased them. 
 Some had this defect, some had that. Some were 
 microscopic la size. 
 
 "We'd smother before getting into this place," they 
 said. 
 
 The large houses, on the other hand, were ill- 
 smelling places or repulsive altogether. 
 
 At the recollection of their beautiful mansion, 
 drenched with light, with air, framed in flowers and 
 trees, they complained of the diminutive rooms they 
 were shown, and everjrwhere missed their shrubbery 
 and fountains. 
 
 "Why, there are no bushes here, or fountains. 
 Where is there room in this tiny yard for a pot of 
 sweet-basil? And where can you hang a canary 
 cage? A bird would dig of gloom here." 
 
 Every house that Irurtia suggested to them was 
 deficient: the spacious ones were pestilential; the 
 small ones, stifling; the new ones, in bad taste; the 
 old, uncomfortable. 
 
 During those two weeks they inspected entire 
 sections of Caracas. 
 
 78 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 79 
 
 One afternoon they would go northward, toward 
 la Pastora, crossmg the Guanabano bridge over the 
 Catuche rivet; the other, they would travel south- 
 ward, toward el Paraiso, crossing the Guayre by the 
 Dolores bridge; other afternoons they would journey 
 beyond the Anauco, toward the extreme eastern 
 section of the city. 
 
 "We prefer to live in the central part of the town," 
 they finally told Irurtia. 
 
 "Very well," replied don Camilo. "We'll look for 
 something near Catedral, las Mercedes, Santa Teresa 
 or Alta-Gracia." 
 
 There wasn't a piece of property owned by Irurtia 
 in the central parishes and rented at forty pesos per 
 month that they did not examine. 
 
 "I haven't a building left to show you," said the 
 owner, stroking his bony jaw. "The rest are either 
 too large or too small for you." 
 
 "Yes you have, senor Irurtia, yes you have," 
 they replied, with the confidence acquired during 
 two weeks of tramping back and forth across the 
 city of Caracas. 
 
 Benevolent and patient, don Camilo bit his nails, 
 trsdng to think of a place. 
 
 "Maybe you'd like a little house on the plaza del 
 Panteon. At any rate, you'll lose nothing by go- 
 ing out to see it. Tomorrow at four I'll come for 
 you." 
 
 Never had Irurtia been so patient or kind. He 
 himself was surprised at his attitude toward these 
 persons. Not only did he yield to the feminine 
 caprices that enmeshed the dealings, threatening to 
 make the business interminable, but instead of send- 
 
80 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ing these customers to cast their eyes upon the prop- 
 erty in company of Berroteran the mason, or of 
 some employee, he accoinpanied them himself, every 
 afternoon, knowing beforehand that he would waste 
 one or two hours in listening to empty chatter. He 
 was amazed that he could lose two hours daily and 
 listen to foolish female gabble with the greatest of 
 pleasure. And above all he was surprised that all 
 day long he, Irurtia, a serious, practical business 
 man — a man of long experience and proof against 
 mischance, flattery and weakness, a man who be- 
 Ueved only in God and Gold — should be waiting 
 almost with anxiety for the time to fly so that four 
 o'clock should come — the hour for him to go and 
 call upon the Agualongas. It did not chafe him to 
 waste his time in such company; on the contrary, he 
 liked it very much. For this reason, and also in 
 the hope of foisting some half-ruined house upon 
 them, he began by showing them his worst proper- 
 ties. If, thanks to the Agualongas, he could rid 
 himself of such shanties, all the better. And recol- 
 lecting his thought of giving them a comfortable 
 house and little money, he corrected himself: "I'll 
 give them only a little money and the worst house I 
 possibly can. For after all, I'm not the head or 
 the protector of that family. What the deuce! 
 Business is business. I'm no Sister of Charity, but 
 a man with hair on his chest." 
 
 At the beginning of these inspection tours Olga, 
 Rosaura and Alcira used to accompany the wealthy 
 old miser. 
 
 But on the third and fourth day Olga did not care 
 to give herself any further trouble in the matter. 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 81 
 
 From that day forward only Alcira and Rosaura 
 made the daily rounds with Irurtia. 
 
 Eufemia, older and always in iU health, scarcely 
 ever went out except to attend seven o'clock mass 
 on Sundays, or to fulfil her duty toward her rela- 
 tives, especially when there was some bereavement. 
 Eufemia took her walks in the house garden. She 
 would accept, she said, any house that her sisters 
 should select. But few years on this earth remained 
 to her. And her walking skeleton could be accommo- 
 dated aiiywhere at all until the striking of the final 
 hour. 
 
 It was Eufemia who, though she said nothing, 
 felt most sad at leaving the old family mansion. It 
 served her not only as a dwelling-place, but as a 
 street, promenade, recreation spot, everything- She 
 was intensely fond of the garden. She would spend 
 the morning watering the flowers, as a pretext to 
 warm her limbs in the early sun ; afternoons, with all 
 the domestic chores done, she would take the Huge 
 garden shears or the sharp cornhandle, and spend 
 the time cutting an acacia branch, pruning a jessa- 
 mine bush or lopping off shoots of a pink plant, or 
 else enjoy grafting a rose bush, Ihrusling a vine- 
 prop into the ground, or gathering for the saints, 
 for Olga, for the parlor, for the dining-room, or even 
 for the flower-market every Sunday — in constant 
 fear lest she should be discovered by Olga — bunches 
 of violets, twigs of nard and roses of snow, purple 
 and gold. 
 
 One afternoon at table, after they had returned 
 from their daily tour with Irurtia, Alcira began to 
 tease Rosaura in regard to the miser: 
 
82 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "The old fellow," she said, "certainly likes to talk 
 with you. At times he doesn't even answer my 
 questions, he's so utterly taken up with you." 
 
 "I believe he's equally fond of everybody." 
 
 "Lord, Rosaura, don't be a sUly goose. Every 
 afternoon, for the past two weeks you've had that 
 scarecrow of an Irurtia at your side, and while he 
 talks to you he seems to be making love. Yet you 
 say that he's equally fond of everybody." 
 
 "I give you my oath ..." 
 
 "Don't swear. Unless I'm very much mistaken 
 the old fellow's smitten. What a conquest!" 
 
 Olga's eyes suddenly flashed: 
 
 "So that's where we are, godmother!" she ex- 
 claimed. "So there'll be two happy unions shortly 
 in the family? I'm delighted. I give the example. 
 But you improve upon it. My sweetheart isn't 
 worth anywhere near as much as yours." 
 
 "My dear girl, for God's sake, don't speak such 
 nonsense," said Rosaura, trying to defend herself 
 and unable to restrain her laughter. 
 
 Alcira renewed her previous conversation: 
 
 "Why, the old fellow, with you, becomes as sweet 
 as a sugar-plum." 
 
 Olga added: , 
 
 "All of Irurtia's money will be melted in the fires 
 of this passion, deluging Rosaura and the Agualon- 
 gas' with gold." 
 
 "At least he will let us live and die in our home," 
 insinuated Eufemia. 
 
 Eufemia, incredulous, and without conceding the 
 slightest importance to Alicra's jest, had spoken 
 merely for the sake of saying something. At the 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 83 
 
 same time with these hopeful words she translated 
 her innermost feeling: the grief that she felt at the 
 mere thought of abandoning the ancient home of 
 her forbears, in which she herself had been born. 
 
 Rosaura finally became angry — as much as 
 Rosaura could — and declared that she'd never step 
 out again with Irurtia. 
 
 "I don't want any talk," she said, "linking me with 
 that horrid old monster." 
 
 The conversation was shifted to other things, so 
 as not to offend Rosaura. They even spoke of the 
 never sufficiently estimated General Chicharra, who 
 some days before, quite unusually, had failed to 
 receive a governmental re-appointment. 
 
 After the meal and the table talk were over, Olga, 
 arm in arm with Alcira, managed to inveigle her 
 aiuit into the patio. The moon was out. The two 
 women stopped beneath the trees. The penetrat- 
 ing odor of the night-blooming cereus perfumed the 
 atmosphere. 
 
 - "But are you positive?" asked Olga of her aunt, 
 without any preamble, as if following the line of a 
 thought. 
 
 "Positive of what?" asked Alcira. 
 
 "Don't be a fool: positive that Irurtia likes my 
 godmother." 
 
 "Ah, I had forgotten all about that! No, not 
 siu-e. It seems to me, as I said, that the old fellow 
 is more than usually fond of chatting with her. 
 But it may well be because poor Rosaura, who is 
 so good-natured, pays him such close attention, 
 partly through courtesy, and partly that he may 
 very soon hand over the money for your wedding." 
 
84 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Is that all? May it not be through sheer timid- 
 ity that this wily old hairy lizard doesn't speak out 
 frankly to my godmother, if he really likes her? 
 Just consider. He'd be a wonderful fish to catch. 
 Farewell, poverty!" 
 
 "For God's sake, Olga, don't talk such absurdities. 
 One would imagine you'd been brought up by Jews 
 or that you're metallized like the Yankees, or that 
 you'd wish Rosaura to sell herself, marrying a man 
 she didn't love, as the Frenchwomen do." 
 
 "No, that's not what I mean." 
 
 "It would be better to forget the whole matter. 
 Don't ever joke again about the old fellow and 
 Rosaura. You see, she doesn't relish the jest at 
 aU." 
 
 "I agree with you," concluded Olga. 
 
 And they changed the subject. 
 
 That night, when Rosaura, Alcira and Eufemia 
 were already fast asleep, Olga, who had not yet gone 
 to bed, opened the window of her room. 
 
 The window looked out upon the patio. The per- 
 fume of the garden was wafted into the room and 
 filled it as with balsam. The clear tropical moon 
 shone in the blue patch of the sky that was framed 
 by the window. Olga, in her nightgown, approached 
 the window and gazed meditatively at the sky. The 
 warm night breeze played with her fihny white 
 gown, caressing Olga's elastic legs and filling her 
 with the delight of the bath. Her loose, blonde 
 tresses floated over her shoulders. 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 85 
 
 Ay, Dios mio! Que alborozo! 
 Ya la tapia cruje al fin! 
 Y entra el mozo, y con el mozo 
 entra el aura del jardin. 
 
 Besa el joven en la fresca 
 boca, a la nina en boton; 
 y la brisa picaresca 
 le alborota el camison? 
 
 Olga's thoughts turned to her approaching mar- 
 riage. What did the future hold in store for her? 
 She would never own coaches, horses, yachts, pearl 
 necklaces, marble palaces ! What a limited horizon ! 
 Never would she take, for example, a trip to India, 
 to Benares, to Madras, to Bombay, to Calcutta, to 
 the Hindu forests on a tiger hunt, mounted upon an 
 elephant, in company of youthful Rajahs with dark 
 eyes, bronzed skin and myriad jewels. She was fond 
 of dark-complexioned men, of luxury, of adventure, 
 of life. She longed to live, tp enjoy, to dissipate, to 
 be intoxicated with desire, love, champagne; to 
 satisfy her whims, to dominate over men, reign over 
 women : to be acclaimed, adored, hated, a celebrated 
 beauty, happy. And what did fate promise, her? 
 A mediocre existence, obscure, subterraneous, bore- 
 some, monotonous ; in Caracas, always the same old 
 
 8 Good heavens 1 What alarm I 
 
 There's a sound on the garden wall. 
 
 The youth comes in, and with him, 
 
 The garden's sweet perfume. 
 
 The young tnan kisses the sweet mouth of the blooming 
 
 maiden, 
 And the naughty breeze plays with her chemise. 
 
86 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Caracas; and poor, forever poor! A life brimming 
 with unsatisfied desires, with yearnings impossible 
 of fulfilment, with penury and unhappiness. What 
 an injustice! Por some people life was aU honey; 
 for others, all gall. Now she could understand why 
 some women committed wild deeds. These women 
 who eloped with a prince, who permitted themselves 
 to be abducted by a tenor, who travel about the 
 world singing, beholding new cities with every dawn, 
 applauded by the women of the entire world, their 
 purses well stocked with the gold of the five conti- 
 nents. 
 
 Gold! Gold! It was sad to confess; but this 
 was the sole key that opened all doors, even the 
 portals of happiness. 
 
 She thought of Irurtia. It occurred to her that 
 she might marry the miser and become mistress of 
 a fortune. But she recoiled in horror before the 
 notion of such a union; before the idea of feeling 
 Irurtia's hairy hand upon her fair, satin-like skin, 
 and upon her breasts and her mouth the pale lips — 
 most certainly cold and icy as those of a corpse — of 
 that filthy old creature with the face of a rat. No, 
 no, no. Impossible. She could not come through 
 such an ordeal. "Rather hunger," she thought. 
 "Sooner death." And to calm herself, she reasoned 
 out the matter in the following way: "But this 
 doesn't concern me at all; why suppose Irurtia would 
 marry me? It's my godmother he's courting." 
 
 After a mental pause she added to herself: "And 
 after all, why not? My godmother isn't a young 
 girl of eighteen. If she doesn't seize her opportu- 
 nity she'll be -left an old maid. Besides, she's so 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 87» 
 
 good, and always ready to sacrifice herself for every- 
 body. One more sacrifice will cost her very little. 
 And in return, how many benefits! What a change 
 in her life, and in the life of all the rest of us!" 
 
 On the following day, when the time came for the 
 women to dress and get ready for Irurtia, who would 
 certainly come, with his chronometric regularity, at 
 four o'clock sharp, Rosaura declared that she would 
 not go out. 
 
 "Have you gone daft?" asked Alcira. "You're 
 offended because of a harmless little joke. I assure 
 you that had I known how you'd take it, I wouldn't 
 have opened my lips. Come, now; put on your 
 things." 
 
 "Do put on your things," repeated Eufemia ever 
 so gently. 
 
 "No. I will not go. I don't want to hear my 
 name coupled in jest with that of the old scarecrow 
 who gives me the horrors. I don't care to look 
 upon him or hear him again. Tomorrow Caracas 
 will buzz with the rumor that I'm entertaining 
 Irurtia's advances. I know Caracas: what begins 
 as jesting gossip always ends as slander. The 
 moment it gains currency, though none believes it, 
 all the gossips pretend they do; and all the fools 
 end by swallowing it whole." 
 
 "But who is going to repeat this joke of Alcira's?" 
 Eufemia asked insinuatingly of her sister. 
 
 "Even if you're right, I refuse to go," replied 
 Rosaura. "What occurs to Alcira can occur to 
 any other." 
 
 Olga did not open her lips. 
 
 Alcira, really sorry to see how much to heart her 
 
88 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 sister had taken her jest of the previous evening, 
 repeated two or three times, sincerely penitent: 
 
 "If I had only known! The truth is that flies, 
 can't enter a closed mouth." 
 
 There was a silence. Eufemia broke it, saying: 
 
 "Go dress, Rosaura. We all know that there's 
 nothing to it." 
 
 Rosaura, feeling beaten, and unaccustomed to 
 resist, was about to yield, when she suddenly drew 
 strength from her own weakness. 
 
 "No," she asserted. "I will not go. If what 
 Alcira says is untrue, then my action will serve to 
 prevent anybody from imagining it ; if it's true, then, 
 by ceasing to go I'll nip the evil in the bud." 
 
 "Besides," she added, after a few moments of 
 silence, "nobody can imagine how much Alcira's 
 silly conjecture offends and disgusts me. Irurtia 
 fills ftie with repugnance, nausea, horror. His hairy 
 hands seem two spiders to me. His scrawny neck, 
 his rat-like eyes, his yellow teeth, his ill-shaved face, 
 his blackish-green frock-coat, his celluloid collar, the 
 mouldy, damp, catarrhy odor that rises from him, all 
 fill me with a sensation of physical revulsion. His 
 ideas have the same effect upon me. If I repress 
 my intense antipathy when I speak to him, it's for 
 the sake of Olga, and for our own sake, so that he 
 may make the exchange and give us the wretched 
 pittance that we need." 
 
 "Then I refuse to go out with the old man my- 
 self," declared Alcira. 
 
 "I'll go along with you," volunteered Olga. 
 
 At that moment the three women were filled with 
 admiration for Olga as for a person who performs an 
 
OLGA'S SACRIFICE 89 
 
 act of Christian heroism for the benefit of another. 
 The Sister of Charity who buries herself alive in a 
 leper hospital was not more noble in the eyes of the 
 three sisters, at that juncture, than Olga Emmerich, 
 
IX 
 THE LOVERS' CHAT 
 
 AFTER dinner Olga, as on the previous day, left 
 arm in arm with Alcira, engaged in conversa- 
 tion with her aunt; not, as on the day before, 
 toward the garden of the patio, but in the direction 
 of the salon. The room, already lighted, was await- 
 ing the visit of Andres Rata, Olga's sweetheart. 
 
 "Did you notice," asked Olga, "the disappoint- 
 ment written all over Irurtia's face when he saw 
 that Rosaura wasn't going out?" 
 
 "I should say I did. The old fellow, though wUy 
 enough, was unable to hide it. Fortunately, the 
 excuse we gave him seemed quite plausible. Any- 
 body's liable to fall ill." 
 
 "He was a bit gloomy during the afternoon." 
 
 "Gloomy? You mean coarse and ready to shoot 
 us for a cuartillo." 
 
 "Well, he's always that way." 
 
 "No, not always. During these past few days 
 he's been as sweet as taffy. The change is in- 
 credible." 
 
 "May I not have been the cause ?^ The old hairy 
 lizard hates me almost as much as I do him." 
 
 "You the cause? And why? You couldn't have 
 been more amiable nor polite." 
 
 90 
 
THE LOVERS' CHAT 91 
 
 This was true. Olga understood that the sub- 
 stitution of her fair and genteel person for Rosaura 
 had fallen upon the old man like a jar of iced water. 
 She did not lose courage, however, and during all 
 that afternoon she brought into play every ability 
 of her intelligence and her grace, employing every 
 wile of seduction to conquer Irrutia's good-will, to 
 make him forget her former bruskness, or at least, 
 to make him lose that antipathy toward her which 
 was so well-earned and which he so plainly dis- 
 played. 
 
 Don Camilo did not permit himself to be so easily 
 tamed. He bristled like a porcupine. 
 
 The house he showed them was not worth a blade 
 of grass. Olga, however, found it ideal. 
 
 "It's pretty," she declared. "I like it." 
 
 "Well, if you like it, young lady, all you have to 
 do is make up your mind. I can't bother every day 
 in the week and waste my time on a piece of business 
 that won't realize me a centimo of profit." 
 
 "If it depended upon me, senor Irurtia, I swear 
 that I would accept it. Unfortunately the decision 
 does not lie in my hands. It depends upon my 
 aunts, and particularly upon my godmother." 
 
 Olga feared lest Irurtia should, in his ill-humor, 
 break off all negotiations. And with Irurtia alieh-^ 
 ated, the entire structure of Olga's plans would 
 crumble. She must hold on to don Camilo and 
 sugar his pill with the hope of Rosaura. 
 
 She ventured to renew the conversation: 
 
 "The best thing to do would be for you to come 
 whenever you find it convenient — tomorrow morn- 
 ing, if you wish — to our house. Rosaura will be 
 
92 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 feeling better by then and between Rosaura, Eu- 
 femia, Alcira and you a decision can be reached." 
 
 Turning to Alcira, ^e consulted her meekly: 
 
 "Don't you think so, Alcira?" 
 
 Alcira, fearing to commit a blunder, could find 
 nothing to say and finally expressed herself as be- 
 ing of the same opinion. 
 
 Olga went on : 
 
 "The house is good, acceptable, recently painted, 
 light and airy. I don't believe there's another of 
 its kind that's so pretty, let alone prettier. For the 
 rest, senor Irurtia, regarding what you'U offer in 
 cash, my godmother and my aunts will surely come 
 to an agreement with you. They are not very hard 
 to satisfy, particularly my godmother, who is an 
 angel; and you, on your side, are a gentleman," 
 
 "I am a business man, young lady." 
 
 Irurtia retorted with such rudeness that Olga 
 yielded her place to Alcira. "Let her do the 
 talking," she said to herself, "and catch the down- 
 pour of his wrath. The old fellow evidently can't 
 bear the sight of me. There is no doubt about it; 
 I can't carry on the fight against this Leviathan of 
 greed and coarseness myself; I'll have to look for 
 allies to help vanquish him. As for my godmother, 
 I'll see to her. It's impossible that this hairy lizard 
 should go to the grave with his millions. Let him 
 get married and let his money bask in the sunlight." 
 
 Irurtia, breaking his custom, did not accompany 
 the women to their house; he bade them adieu at the 
 door of the dwelling which he had brought them to 
 inspect. A friend of the Agualongas, meeting them 
 on the premises, insisted upon accompanying them 
 
THE LOVERS' CHAT 93 
 
 home, and not only upon accompanying; she fol- 
 lowed them into the house and chatted with them 
 until seven. At seven, when she left, they served 
 the evening meal. It was only when they rose from 
 the table that Olga was able to exchange a few 
 words with Alcira in privacy — impressions of the 
 afternoon and of don Camilo. 
 
 "And you say that Irurtia, on previous days, was 
 not so rude as today?" 
 
 "I tell you that he was as sweet as taffy — as 
 soft as caramel." 
 
 "Then there's no doubt about it ; he's in love with 
 my godmother. And he was provoked because he 
 couldn't see her. And since he's a tactless creature 
 without any social breeding at all, he shows his ill 
 humor. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "You may be right," replied Alcira. "But it 
 would be best for Rosaura not to see this fellow 
 again. He'll soon forget; Rosaura will not suffer 
 from the presumptuous advances of the shameless 
 old wretch, nor from the gossip and idle talk that 
 Caracas will be full of if the matter ever becomes 
 public." 
 
 "The trouble is that we've already invited him to 
 come here one of these afternoons to reach an under- 
 standing with my godmother, Eufemia and you." 
 
 "Yes; but everything will be arranged. Rosaura 
 can be indisposed or have had a relapse on the day 
 that Irurtia comes." 
 
 "That's so," replied Olga pensively. "Everything 
 can be arranged ..." 
 
 At this moment Andres Rata came in. 
 
 It was nine o'clock. 
 
94 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Alcira withdrew a few moments later, leaving 
 the sweethearts seated on the window seats, en- 
 grossed in a lovers' chat. 
 
 Through the open window came the light of the 
 municipal lamps, the voices of passers-by who con- 
 versed as they walked along the street, the noise of 
 coaches and street-cars, the confused sounds of the 
 thoroughfare, the notes of a waltz that winged 
 from a neighboring balcony and dissolved in the 
 air. 
 
 Rosaura entered the room. 
 
 After nodding to Olga's betrothed she sat down 
 in the center of the room, beneath a lamp. While 
 she silently watched over the lovers from a distance, 
 as one who does not relish the task, she busied her- 
 self with crochet work — a handkerchief of Mara- 
 caibo soles for her niece's trousseau. 
 
 The lovers continued to converse at the window, 
 in a low voice. Rosaura could hear only an indis- 
 tinct lisping, a whispering. 
 
 "I have news for you," began Olga. 
 
 "Very well. Let's hear it." 
 
 "A piece of news that may be of the utmost im- 
 portance to us." 
 
 "Fine. Tell me right away." 
 
 "I really don't know whether I ought to." 
 
 Andres Rata's curiosity was roused. He fairly 
 itched to know this piece of news that might be of 
 the utmost importance to both, and which Olga 
 hesitated to impart. 
 
 "I don't know whether I ought to," repeated Olga. 
 
 "Why don't you know whether you ought to? 
 Do you doubt me?" 
 
THE LOVERS' CHAT 95 
 
 "I shouldn't care to have the news spread through 
 Caracas." 
 
 "Then you thmk me a traitor, an imprudent 
 fool, a . . ." 
 
 "I think you nothing," interrupted Olga. "But 
 if the matter becomes public, the whole advantage 
 may escape us. There must be plenty of malevo- 
 lent folk interested in our failure." 
 
 Poor Andres Rata's curiosity had reached its cli- 
 max. He begged, he kissed her hands, more through 
 servility than through love. He whined, complain- 
 ing that Olga had no confidence in him. 
 
 When Olga, who managed her lover as if he were 
 a marionette, wearied of toying with her puppet — 
 when she had tired of playing with him as A cat 
 plays with a rat, she decided to communicate the 
 good news to him. 
 
 Andres Rata went into ecstasy. 
 
 "Wonderful! Magnificent! Your godmother, 
 married to Irurtia, will become the mistress of the 
 whole fortune. Your godmother adores you; she 
 denies you nothing. We shall be rich." 
 
 "Hush!" commanded Olga, holding her batiste 
 handkerchief against Andres Rata's horrible thick 
 lips, as if to thrust back his words into his mouth 
 with the fine piece of cloth, and with a gesture 
 similar to that employed in frightening away a fly. 
 
 "And what about her? Does she consent? Is 
 your family willing?" 
 
 "Those are matters that rest with us, my dear 
 boy. Don't imagine that this affair is going to be 
 as easy as sucking a licorice stick." 
 
 "For God's sake, Olga, you treat me like a 
 
96 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 stranger. Tell me. She — your godmother — how 
 does she take Irurtia?" 
 
 "She doesn't want to." 
 
 "Ah! Caramba! That makes things compli- 
 cated:" 
 
 "I repeat — this affair won't be a trifl^ But I 
 already have mapped out my campaign. And my 
 first lieutenant will be uncle Aquiles." 
 
 "General Chicharra? Magnificent! Magnifi- 
 cent!" cried Andres Rata, who found everything 
 Olga said to be wisdom itself. His submission was 
 similar to that of Tomasa to Camilo, although of 
 a different nature; he was ever ready to applaud and 
 to submit. 
 
 "And I? Where do I come in? I'm ready to 
 serve you in any way, to aid you faithfully." 
 
 "You? Listen and shut up. ... I was going 
 to give you a message for my uncle Aquiles. But 
 it will be better for me to speak with him person- 
 ally." 
 
 Then, in more kindly and affectionate manner, she 
 added: 
 
 "You know that if I aspire to anything it is not 
 for myself alone. You and I in the near future 
 will form but a single soul with two bodies." 
 
 He swore that he loved her more every time he 
 saw her. 
 
 And they continued to converse at the window, in 
 lowered tones, almost in secret. 
 
 Rosaura continued to crochet her handkerchief 
 of Maracaibo soles by the light of the lamp in the 
 center of the salon. The sidewalk continued to 
 resound with the footsteps of the passers-by. 
 
THE LOVERS' CHAT 97 
 
 Through the open window there continued to come 
 in the noises of the street, the light of the city 
 lamps and the music of the waltz, ten times ended 
 and ten times begim over again. 
 
 In the meantime, within the house, Alcira, in the 
 corridor, was thumbing over the pages of La Reli- 
 gion, a daily newspaper that kept the Agualongas in 
 touch with the Catholic and non-Catholic world and 
 through which they formed their opinions upon the 
 daily happenings in Caracas, in Venezuela, in Amer- 
 ica, in Europe, in the whole world. Eufemia, in 
 her room, was saying her prayers. The cook was 
 scouring pans, washing dishes or sweeping the 
 kitchen before going to bed. Her daughter, a half- 
 witted midget of some fifteen years, who kept the 
 house tidy, attended to the beds and, in short, did 
 all the minor and menial chores, had been snoring 
 ever since she had finished waiting on the table and 
 then supped herself. 
 
 In the patio, which was flooded by the moonlight, 
 the breeze, as it wafted through the trees, mur- 
 mured softly; the air was filled with the nocturnal, 
 insinuating perfume of the night-blooming cereus, 
 and the broad-leaved turiara — that magical plant 
 of an Oriental tale — exhaled its musical plaint to 
 the light of the moon. 
 
X 
 
 A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 
 
 T TNDER the first pretext that occurred to her, 
 U Olga saw to it that Alcira should be her com- 
 panion on her visit to the home of that incomparable 
 general, don Aquiles Chicharra, the husband of Ger- 
 trudis Agualonga. 
 
 When they arrived it was something like ten in 
 the morning. 
 
 While Alcira, as soon as she entered, became en- 
 wrapped in her sister and the little Chicharras, 
 Olga, under the pretext that the eldest of her cous- 
 ins did not come at once to receive her, went out of 
 the parlor to the corridor, calling her: 
 
 "Cousin Tula, don't be so lazy and so vain. 
 Asleep or dressing at such a late hour! Aren't you 
 ashamed of yourself?" 
 
 "Come in, Olga. Come to my room." 
 
 On the way thither Olga met General Chicharra, 
 who, in the belief that he was uttering a clever 
 jest, greeted her with this siUy remark: 
 
 "What scandal is this, in my very home? How 
 does the little rascal dare!" 
 
 Olga smiled vacuously, out of mere courtesy, and 
 clasping the hand that Chicharra offered her, said to 
 him in a low voice: 
 
 "Uncle, you and I must have a talk for five min- 
 utes, alone. I came expressly to tell you so." 
 
 98 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 99 
 
 "Good. Let's talk. What's up?" 
 
 "No. Not here." 
 
 "But what mystery do you call this?" 
 
 Tula's voice came from her room: 
 
 "Are you coming, Olga? Come!" 
 
 "Just a moment," shouted Olga. "I'm speaking 
 with my uncle." 
 
 And turning to the general, she said: 
 
 "It's as important to you as it is to me." 
 
 "Caracoles! You've stirred my curiosity! Step 
 into the dining-room for a moment. There's no- 
 body there." 
 
 "No, no. I'll wait for you tomorrow at the win- 
 dow of the house, around five. I'll be alone. Not 
 a word to anybody. Remember, now: at five." 
 
 Tula was approaching them. Noticing their whis- 
 pered conversation, she exclaimed, with innocent 
 malice: 
 
 "You seem like conspirators." 
 
 Olga, as if to heighten the jest of her cousin's 
 words and deprive them of any real significance, 
 continued aloud to Chicharra, in Tula's presence: 
 
 "You understand, then, general. And not a word 
 to anybody." 
 
 Even when the uncle and his niece parted Tula 
 was stUl jesting about the conspirators, and Olga, 
 too, at the moment of departure, shouted from the 
 door to the famous Chicharra: 
 
 "Remember, General. Be punctual and discreet." 
 
 The young Chicharras exploded with laughter. 
 
 "This Olga," said one of them when their visitors 
 had left, "is full of the most stupendous things." 
 
 "She's quite capable," declared Chicharra's wife, 
 "of hatching a genuine conspiracy." 
 
100 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Chicharra said nothing. But he was thinking- 
 hard. Aquile Chicharra was a huge stomach upon 
 two short legs, a billowy neck between his shoulders, 
 and a plump-cheeked face. This helped to individ- 
 ualize his whale-like aspect, sharply characterizing 
 his countenance, which was blunt of feature: a thick 
 nose between pink and ruby, and seemingly with- 
 out nostrils — a fleshy nose in the form of an acorn, 
 or rather, an acorn barnacle. 
 
 This sack of fat was also a wine-skin full of silli- 
 ness and a blister of vanity. But neither the 
 silUness nor the vanity, nor the fat attained to the 
 proportions of his vileness. Vanity, which plays the 
 role of pride' in those who cannot show pride, is 
 not usually found in company of servility in the 
 same person's character. In Aquiles Chicharra 
 they dwelt fraternally side by side. Perhaps he 
 had not been born to be a servant; but from his 
 youth he had of set purpose worn the lackey's livery 
 and that uniform of servitude had clung to his skin : 
 slavery formed part of his moral being, even as his 
 hair, his bones and his greasy, billowy flesh formed 
 part of his physical being. 
 
 His vanity consisted in that subaltern vanity 
 which feeds upon mere nothings, since it cannot 
 stand a fare of resounding dpeds. For instance, don 
 Aquiles boasted that he could walk or had walked 
 the distance between the Plaza Bolivar and his 
 house in more time or less time than any other per- 
 son. 
 
 "Yesterday," he would say at his own table, "I 
 left the house at eight o'clock in the morning and 
 didn't reach the Federal Palace till eleven. Three 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAI. 101 
 
 hours for a walk that ordinarily takes twenty min- 
 utes. That can happen only to me. And why 
 such a delay, you will ask? Well, simply because 
 I met so many friends who stopped me and insisted 
 on having a chat with me." 
 
 His political career traced a dazzling parabola. 
 
 "I have been everything in Venezuela," the 
 famous Chicharra would aver. "Everything except 
 Archbishop and President." 
 
 And this was true. 
 
 Lacking talent, lacking ideas, without ideals, with- 
 out worth, foresight, education, patriotism, devoid 
 of personality or of any indications of statesman- 
 ship, with not a jot of the warrior in his make-up, 
 not an atom of the publicist, not a drop of the 
 journalist, Aquiles Chicharra, by his very lack of 
 weight, always floated like a cork upon the surface 
 of the political waters. He lived constantly upon 
 the national budget, stuck like an oyster to the 
 Treasury of the Republic or sucking at it like a 
 leech. 
 
 His one virtue was his passivity. 
 
 Every time a man was needed to sign something 
 that nobody else was willing to sign, Aquiles Chi- 
 charra was Johnny on the spot: whereupon he 
 would be made Minister; when a man was needed 
 to say something that nobody else cared to say, there 
 was Aquiles Chicharra; whereupon he would be 
 made Deputy; if it was necessary to condemn some 
 innocent fellow, there was Aquiles Chicharra, ready 
 as ever: whereupon they made him judge. 
 
 Since he was good for nothing he served for every- 
 thing. 
 
102 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 During the intervals of these high services he 
 lent others, less conspicuous, though at times no less 
 useful — such as worming into the friendship and 
 the homes of persons, sounding a certain So-and-so, 
 or going to Europe to purchase a yacht for the Presi- 
 dent's pleasure — a yacht that would afterwards be 
 charged to the nation at the price of an armored 
 cruiser. 
 
 Aquiles Chicharra was the cheapest of political 
 rogues. That was why he was preferred to all 
 others. He had occupied almost every public 
 charge, yet was not rich ; he had sullied his name in 
 the shadiest and vilest of speculation and peculation, 
 and his hands, if they were not clean, were empty. 
 So that he would often exclaim: 
 
 "I have fiUed every office in the Republic and I 
 have barely enough to live upon. And yet they'll 
 say afterwards that we 'yellow liberals' of Venezuela 
 aren't honest patriots!" 
 
 The fact that he had barely enough to live upon, 
 as he put it, coupled with the habit of battening 
 upon the nation's budget and eating at its expense 
 to the point of believing himself defrauded if two 
 weeks passed by without receiving money for some 
 reason or other, compelled Chicharra to resort to 
 fawning, to genuflexions, to protestations of loyalty, 
 and to constant dancing attendance in the ante- 
 rooms of Ministers and Presidents, either to make 
 sure of holding on to a place or to beg one. He was 
 tolerated as one who could prove useful at the right 
 moment and who should be near at hand. He was 
 as necessary and as hard to get rid of as the setter is 
 to the hunter. 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 103 
 
 The politicians used him as fishermen use the cast- 
 net; after the fishing was over they would throw the 
 instrument aside. But in this case the instrument 
 had the power of speech and rebelled at being set 
 aside in a corner. Some of Chicharra's former ac- 
 complices, or persons who had made use of so com- 
 pliant a servant, would say of him : 
 
 "Poor Aquiles. He's a good liberal. He has lent 
 many a service to the cause. We can't leave him 
 without anything." 
 
 "Without anything," meant without some sine- 
 cure. 
 
 In order to win for himself quickly forgotten 
 gratitude or renewed favors, previous services did 
 not suffice; he must repeat them and make frequent 
 protestations that he was ready to sacrifice himself 
 for the government; he must know how to win the 
 good will of the successive leaders by dint of much 
 cringing and obsequious bowing. 
 
 Whether Pedro or Juan were at the helm, the 
 self-denying Chicharra was always ready to sacrifice 
 himself for the government, collecting his pay for 
 the sacrifice every fortnight from the National 
 Treasury and rewarding those in power with heaped 
 adulation. 
 
 His title of General had a grotesque and most 
 amusing origin that was already beginning to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Having been named Governor of a Federal Terri- 
 tory in which the Executive of the Republic, or more 
 planly speaking, the President, desired to commit 
 some unheard of atrocity, Chicharra was soon con- 
 fronted with an uprising against him. Whereupon 
 
104 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 he surrounded himself with the most brilliant group 
 of officers and set out in search of the enemy, located 
 the rebels, discharged his batteries against them 
 . . . and came out with colors flying — away 
 from the enemy. 
 
 "I came out with flying colors," he explained 
 later, when he reported the news of the engagement 
 to the President. 
 
 Indeed, filled with martial ardor and not for a 
 moment doubting the heroism of his troops, Chi- 
 charra had abandoned his post of danger, gone off 
 to a safe position and telegraphed to the President: 
 
 "Formidable encounter with the rebels at 
 La Rochela. We are fighting like lions. I 
 announce complete victory. I congratu- 
 late you and I congratulate the Liberal 
 Party on the occasion of the glorious tri- 
 umph of our arms. I am, as ever, always 
 ready for sacrifice. Count upon me un- 
 conditionally. 
 
 Your loyal friend and subordinate, 
 
 AQUILES CHICHARRA" 
 
 Chicharra's bellicose ardor, which was not em- 
 ployed face to face with the enemy with his weapons 
 in his grasp, but rather in the telegraph office with 
 his unconditional pen in his right hand, played the 
 prudent Aquiles an ill turn. 
 
 No sooner had he despatched that telegram to 
 the President than the troops of Governor Chi- 
 charra turned about face and ran. The rebels had 
 triumphed. Chicharra's victory was transformed 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 105 
 
 into a rout. The officers accused Chicharra of 
 blustering cowardice which had provided the ex- 
 ample for the troops' flight. 
 
 "For God's sake!" exclaimed the whale-like 
 Aquiles, in melodramatic accents. "Let us pardon 
 one another in the name of the Liberal Party, and 
 let us prove that we are ready for all sacrifices." 
 
 These magic words cleared the horizon and pre- 
 vented a squabble. 
 
 Three or four times Chicharra encountered the 
 rebels and three or four times he came out with 
 flying colors to announce a new victory to the 
 President of the Republic. After the fourth vic- 
 tory obtained by telegraph over the rebels, Aquilea 
 Chicharra appeared in Caracas. The Territory was 
 left in the hands of the revolutionists. 
 
 Caracas burst into raucous laughter at Chicharra's 
 victories. The phrase "a Chicharra victory" be- 
 came a veritable by-word to signify a grotesque 
 defeat. 
 
 In a certain malicious sheet there appeared a 
 sarcastic advertisement: 
 
 AQUILES CHICHARRA'S STABLE 
 Offers Victories To The Public^ 
 
 And over the telephone malicious, waggish per- 
 sons would get him crazy ordering victorias for a 
 drive. 
 
 But time had passed, and not in vain. Chicharra's 
 victories were gradually forgotten: there was for- 
 
 • The Spanish word "victoria" means both victory and that 
 type of vehicle known as a victoria. Hence the sarcastic pun. 
 
106 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 gotten also the burlesque origin of his title, General. 
 He was no longer addressed as such in jest, but out 
 of habit. He himself, with the most insolent self- 
 assurance would even have his cards printed in 
 this fashion: 
 
 GENERAL AQUILES CHICHABRA 
 
 Ex-Minister, Ex-Deputy 
 
 Ex-Administrator of the Customs, Ex-Territorial 
 
 Governor, Etc., Etc., Etc. 
 
 The celebrated and imponderable general did not 
 visit the Agualonga home. Politics absorbed him 
 completely. How was he to have any time to waste 
 in visiting pauperish relatives who, in addition, were 
 exceedingly religious and conservative!- 
 
 Olga was his favorite in that house. He was, in 
 his own way, fond of Olga. Who was it, if not he, 
 that had brought Andres Rata together with Olga? 
 Who had cleverly introduced Rata into the Agua- 
 longa home, despite the desperate opposition of 
 his sisters-in-law? Who had succeeded in establish- 
 ing him in that home, thus aiding Olga's cause? 
 
 It is true that he acted in this manner, primarily 
 to be useful to Andres Rata, who, if he was the 
 natural son of an old mulatto woman of Carupano, 
 was a young liberal and a pro-government journalist. 
 But it is likewise true that in so acting he had 
 pleased Olga and that Chicharra took pleasure in 
 pleasing her. 
 
 So that Olga and the general were united by this 
 bond of betrothal. 
 
 And other bonds united them. 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 107 
 
 When Olga was yet a little girl — scarcely thirteen 
 years old — she used to come to spend the day with 
 Tula. Besides going to school together, they were 
 both of the same age. Chicharra took advantage 
 of the opportunity. He would entice Olga to his 
 room and, sitting down and conversing upon any- 
 thing that came to his mind, he would begin to 
 fondle his niece, not as a father does, allowing his 
 hands to faU from her head to her cheeks, but like 
 a cunning satyr. Olga, who would realize what he 
 was about, would dash from the room. 
 
 Two years later Aquiles, on a certain occasion, 
 tried to shower her with kisses. Olga was no 
 longer a child. She gave the faun a tre- 
 mendous cuff. And the general let her alone. 
 Ever since that day he had had more respect 
 for his niece. Her hand could strike. The slave 
 bowed beneath the yoke. And he cherished no 
 rancor against her. 
 
 Not onl^ did he feel no iU will toward her, but he 
 invited her to the theatre very often, taking her 
 together with Tula, and he even had her come to 
 spend several weeks with the Chicharra family at 
 pleasure resorts, now in the Los Toques mountains 
 in August, now in December and January at Macuto 
 beach. 
 
 For Olga to visit the Chicharra family in company 
 of Alcira, Rosaura, or even Euf emia, who went out 
 very little, seemed quite natural. 
 
 What struck Chicharra as most unusual was Olga's 
 mysterious speech, and above all, the assignation. 
 He was lost in conjecture. He imagined that per- 
 haps some disagreement had arisen between Andres 
 
108 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Rata and the girl; but he dismissed this hypothesis 
 as absurd. Olga had that fellow at her beck and 
 call. What in thunder could it be? Despite his 
 political occupations and his courtly preoccupations, 
 Aquiles awaited most impatiently the hour of the 
 rendez-vous and he was there punctually. 
 
 In a few words Olga made the whole situation 
 clear. , 
 
 As a result of being thrown together with Rosaura 
 during the negotiations for a new house, Irurtia had 
 fallen in love with her; Rosaura would not even hear 
 of the matter, yet it would be terrible to let such 
 an opportunity and so many millions escape their 
 clutches. She had come to her uncle for advice in 
 the dilemma. 
 
 Aquiles felt disappointed. 
 
 "I thought it was about something else," he said. 
 
 His wife had no share in the mansion of the 
 three Agualonga sisters, any more than had Olga, 
 the child of another Agualonga. Olga's mother, as 
 well as Chicharra's wife, had been given at the 
 time of their marriage the share of the inheritance 
 tliat was their due. Therefore this business about 
 an exchange of houses was not of the slightest inter- 
 est to Chicharra and he vowed that he would have 
 nothing to do with it. Let each shift for himself 
 and carry out the transaction as best he could. As 
 for Irurtia's passion and Rosaura's repulsion, he 
 didn't care a fig about either. 
 
 "I'll carry no candle at this burial," he declared 
 to Olga, to signify his withdrawal from all partici- 
 pation. 
 
 "But, uncle, how about your advice?" 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 109 
 
 "I tell you that I wash my hands clean of it, like 
 Pilate." 
 
 Then Olga, who had already concocted her plan, 
 addressed him reprovingly: 
 
 "Why, you don't seem the same Aquiles Chicharra 
 as of old. You've degenerated, Uncle. You are 
 inferior to your reputation. How, now! Can you 
 be the man who has occupied so many and so varied 
 public posts with such distinction? Are you he who 
 dominated so many political crises? Are you, like 
 Bolivar, 'the man for diflBculties'?" 
 
 Aquiles felt himself being bathed in rose water. 
 His vanity emerged like a sea-covered isle when the 
 tide goes out. The little rascal knew him well. He 
 listened with a placid countenance to his niece's re- 
 proaches. 
 
 Unwilling to interrupt this celestial music he 
 limited himself to murmuriag: 
 
 "My dear girl! But, my dear girl!" 
 
 "No, Uncle, don't destroy my illusion. Let me 
 preserve the opinion I formed of you at the very 
 first. At least, let me not lose the illusion that you 
 are a most clever schemer, an intriguer of genius, like 
 don Vicente Amengual." 
 
 This was the summit of flattery. Chicharra could 
 no longer resist. As for comparing him with 
 Bolivar, well, that could be dismissed. He pos- 
 sessed qualities which Bolivar had lacked. But to 
 compare him with don Vicente Amengual? Holy 
 heavens! 
 
 "Niece," he began, unable to contain himself. 
 ^Tfou are the only person that understands me." 
 
 "I should say I do understand you. Uncle. You 
 
110 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 are a superior man: you have even the scrupulous- 
 ness that characterizes a superior man. You don't, 
 become entangled in your wings. Upward, ever up- 
 ward! Flying higher, every flying!" Chicharra was 
 now taking deep breaths. His rosy, whale-like nose 
 seemed to redden with pleasure. And his chubby, 
 cherub-like countenance lit up with the smile of the 
 blessed. 
 
 Olga continued: 
 
 "Just because I understand you, Uncle, I cannot 
 explain your indifference in this matter. Money is 
 always money." 
 
 "But, my dear niece, what do I gain by it if 
 Irurtia is a wealthy man and if Rosaura detests him 
 or not?" 
 
 "Uncle, for God's sake, look ahead. Plumb the 
 future. Irurtia, married to Rosaura, means Rosaura 
 the possessor of milUons. That old fellow can't live 
 very long." 
 
 "Excellent! Rosaura a millionairess! And how 
 does that concern me?" 
 
 "Rosaura rich means that I'll be rich. She'll give 
 me, in one way or another, whatever I ask of her. 
 And if I get rich, is there anything that I wouldn't 
 do for you. Uncle, and for my cousin Tiila?" 
 
 "These are all sweet, airy nothings."^" 
 
 "Another thing, Uncle. Rosaura will not have 
 any children, as you may well understand, from that 
 old lizard of an Irurtia. Rosaura's heirs are Eu- 
 femia, Alcira and my aunt Gertrudis, your wife. 
 May God preserve my godmother for us many years. 
 
 ^» Original: musica celestial; literally, "heavenly music" — a 
 familiar phrase for vain, bigh-soimding promises. 
 
A COMMON TYPE OF LIBERAL 111 
 
 But nobody can tell what's liable to happen. 
 Irurtia's millions, in part, may go to you and your 
 family." 
 
 "Frankly, I hadn't seen the thing in such a light." 
 
 "Then see it now." 
 
 Uncle and niece at last came to a thorough imder- 
 standing. 
 
 General Chicharra was to come some afternoon to 
 the Agualonga home and there meet, accidentally, 
 senor Irurtia. Olga would tell him when. Once 
 in the presence of the enemy, the general would 
 launch his campaign. At first, he wbuld demon- 
 strate his appreciation of Irurtia's attitude toward 
 the Agualonga family during the negotiations. Un- 
 der some clever pretext or other he would manage 
 to become involved in the exchange of the houses 
 and would thus come three or four times into inti- 
 mate contact with Irurtia. 
 
 As soon as the fruit ripened, it would be eaten. 
 Irurtia would be invited to dine at the general's; 
 there would be plenty to eat and drink, much defer- 
 ence shown to him, and lots of honey. 
 
 The Agualongas would attend the dinner, not 
 knowing that Irurtia, too, had been invited. 
 
 As for Rosaijra, silence. Olga would take care of 
 her godmother. 
 
PART TWO 
 
 I 
 
 THE CRUSTACEAN 
 
 IT was a few minutes after six in the afternoon. 
 Dusk was already lighting its capricious lamps, 
 and the western sty was bejewelled with golden 
 glints. 
 
 The crags of the Avila were turning a dark green, 
 while through the valley of Caracas, toward Petare, 
 the glory of the sUn, like an overflowing Orinoco, 
 poured along its luminous path. It was not the 
 hot, gleaming light of midday falling from the zenith 
 and illuminating everything, even the shadows of 
 the trees, but a pale, balmy, golden clearness that 
 fluttered afar, in the fields,^ above the green patches 
 of the cultivated land, setting afire the western win- 
 dows of the city, which seemed the prey to a confla- 
 gration. 
 
 Pleasure coaches roll by containing women dressed 
 in bright colors and men garbed in black. The 
 street-cars, jammed, ride off to the distanp sections. 
 Workingmen come by, toil-worn, with large rings 
 under their eyes, dressed in drill; modest industrial 
 toilers wearing trousers fretted with wrinkles and 
 sack-coats of faded cashmere and alpaca stained at 
 work; countless Germans from the business houses; 
 
 113 
 
114 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 in addition to one or another afternoon passer-by 
 there is a governess with her brood of children, this 
 or that poor couple going out for a breath of fresh 
 air, and returning in the carozza di tutti, the mother 
 who exhibits on the street and the squares her off- 
 spring in skirts, and another who parades her mar- 
 riageable daughter through the fashion shops and 
 intimate salons, where there are more young men 
 than young women. . . . And amid this hetero- 
 geneous crowd there hasten along homeward, or to a 
 chat in the cafe before returning to their families, 
 those whom duty has all day long kept busy with 
 mercantile, shop or office affairs. 
 
 While this twilight public hurried along the street 
 Andres Rata, standing outside, exchanged lovers' 
 talk with Olga Emmerich, who was seated in the 
 window of the Agualonga living-room. 
 
 In another comer of that same room don Camilo 
 and Rosaura were chatting by themselves. It 
 might have been said that they, too, were exchang- 
 ing lovers' talk. 
 
 "And is that affair progressing?" Rata asked his 
 sweetheart, alluding to the relations of the old man 
 with Rosaura. 
 
 "So so," replied Olga. "God alone knows what 
 it costs us to convince my godmother that she ought 
 to be at least tolerant." 
 
 Andres Rata was, physically, an ill-shaped youth 
 of blackish skin — an agile, bony, undersized mulatto 
 with a hanging blubber-lip and yellowish eyes. One 
 seeks instinctively in such a person a tail, for it is 
 hard to tell at first sight whether this is the meta- 
 morphosis of a monkey turned man, or the degenera- 
 
THE CRUSTACEAN 
 
 ;;^ 
 
 tion of man who has reverted to the ape. At all 
 events, one's eyes look for a tail, thinking that the 
 regular life of such a hominoid must be arboreal. 
 Morally he was even worse: filthy, as infectious as 
 the saliva of a consumptive and more vile than 
 vileness itself. Beside him, the famous Chicharra 
 appeared a most worthy man, or almost such. 
 
 How had he attained to Olga? How could this 
 nit lodge and make its nest in the blonde hair of 
 this beautiful creature of white and gold? That was 
 a complicated tale, the masterpiece of Chicharra and 
 Emmerich. 
 
 When Olga, in response to her sweetheart's ques- 
 tion that afternoon, declared that the affair between 
 Rosaura and the bloodsucking miser was by no 
 means flying beneath a blue sky, or sailing straight 
 before the wind over an oily sea, Andres Rata, with 
 that inhuman impatience of one who awaits an- 
 other's sacrifice for his own benefit, insinuated: 
 
 "Your aunt, with all her fastidiousness, is en- 
 dangering every one of us." 
 
 The remark roused Olga's ire, and in mingled jest 
 and reproof she exclaimed: 
 
 "See here, simpleton. You just hold your tongue 
 and be patient." 
 
 He tried to redeem his blunder. 
 
 "I speak as I do on your account. You know 
 that the only interest I have in this matter is that 
 of our speedy marriage." 
 
 Olga, with that little esteem she felt for the man 
 she was going to marry, replied sententiously and 
 cruelly: 
 
 "No, Andres; when a man is anxious to get mar- 
 
116 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ried he looks about and makes up his mind to get 
 the money that's needed; he doesn't wait for it to 
 come from somebody else." 
 
 Rata tried to object. 
 
 She quieted him, laughing at his display of such 
 unusual spirit and at the fact that he should con- 
 sider himself hurt by mere words. A "Come, 
 Andres dear, don't be a fool," calmed him com- 
 pletely. 
 
 The more than despotic authority that Olga Em- 
 merich exercised over this man who was as vile as 
 he was weak — a power that a woman rarely 
 discovers before marriage — triumphed over Rata's 
 attempts at rebellion without the need of using any 
 pressure. 
 
 This man, accustomed to fawn upon everybody, 
 through the very necessity of his servile character, 
 and as if it were the only means of getting himself 
 to be tolerated, obeyed, as if by a secret impulse, 
 the most imperious of the personalities with whom 
 he came into contact. He did not sell or exploit his 
 vileness, as Aquiles Chicharra did. No. He was 
 servile by nature, by vocation, free of charge. At 
 the age of eighteen he had already dedicated rhymed 
 praises to the President of the Republic, whom he 
 did not know and from whom he expected nothing. 
 He was a dillettante of servility; he rejoiced, through 
 the coprophagous instinct of the coclo-oach, in feed- 
 ing upon excrement. The vanity of being betrothed 
 to such a beautiful white woman, added to the 
 sincere love of the youth and his innate servility, 
 made of Andres Rata a puppet which Olga danced 
 about when and however she pleased. 
 
THE CRUSTACEAN 117 
 
 His feelings having been soothed, and still filled 
 with curiosity as to the results of the relations be- 
 tween Irurtia and Rosaura — a curiosity that 
 obeyed a vague and obscure sentiment of intensely 
 personal, sordid interest — the half-breed asked: 
 
 "And Irurtia? Doesn't he speak of marriage?" 
 
 More tractable than before, Olga rephed: 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "But how does he explain the almost daily visits 
 that he pays to you, and his secret conversations with 
 Rosaura?" 
 
 "Why, he doesn't explain them, my boy, and 
 we're not so foolish as to ask explanations." 
 
 "On the day you least expect he's liable to go 
 off never to return. He's a wily chap. You've got 
 to catch him by trickery. And at least, let him 
 as soon as possible settle the exchange of the houses; 
 then we'll be able to marry as quickly as may be." 
 
 "As for Irurtia going off, he won't. He falls 
 more in love with Rosaura every time he sees her, 
 and Rosaura, on her part, will learn gradually to 
 look upon him with less antipathy. When Irurtia 
 does at last speak of marriage — if he does — my 
 godmother will already have become used to the 
 idea. The difficulty has beeurin reaching the point 
 we've already come to: to have her receive him. 
 You can't imagine how much she has suffered, and 
 how much she cried. She says that she yielded for 
 our sake. Poor godmother ! " 
 
 "And the exchange?" 
 
 "That will take place. The house that Irurtia's 
 giving us is being remodelled. It's almost done. 
 It was the best We could do. But they had to re- 
 
118 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 pair it almost from top to bottom. And that takes 
 time. Before a month it will be ready, and then 
 we two can fix the date of our marriage." 
 
 At the mention of marriage, Andres Eata's hang- 
 ing blubber-lip contracted in a smile; and it was 
 the same smile that Irurtia found upon the mulatto's 
 face when he approached the window to bid Olga 
 good-night. Olga, for some time past, had become 
 as sweet as sugar to don Camilo; don Camilo no 
 longer looked upon her with his former antipathy, 
 and the old rancor had vanished. 
 
 Scarcely had Irurtia appeared in the shadow of 
 the entrance to the Agualonga's outer vestibule than 
 Andres Rata said good-bye to his sweetheart with 
 the premeditated purpose of accompanying don 
 Camilo a few blocks and fawning upon him. 
 
 Ever since the dealer in houses — after that 
 dinner at the Chicharra home — had begun to in- 
 crease the frequency of his visits, almost lover- 
 fashion, toward dusk, Andres Rata believed it his 
 duty to court Olga at the selfsame hour. Daily he 
 would wait for the shrivelled old fellow to come out 
 of the Agualongas', that he might accompany him 
 a part of the way and shower him with adulation. 
 
 Why does Andres Rata fawn upon folk? Ask 
 the bird why it flies and the river why it flows along, 
 and the rosebush why it grows roses, and the mango- 
 tree why it gives fruit. Why does Andres Rata 
 adulate folk? Through organic necessity, through 
 instinct, through temperament, through the law of 
 his nature. That homunculus with skin between 
 copper-color and black — that Rata with the cring- 
 ing soul, felt the imperative need of bowing before 
 
THE CRUSTACEAN 119 
 
 everybody, of seeking someone before whom to 
 cringe, curving his neck and his spine, for his knees 
 tended to genuflexion by a movement as natural 
 and spontaneous as that of breathing. 
 
 He had even discharged his salvo of adulations 
 against the usurer from the columns of that sheet 
 called El Constitudonal, a center of infection that 
 plunged almost the entire Republic into an epi- 
 demic of vileness — a malodorous periodical that 
 left a sewer-like reputation. "I'll win him through 
 his vanity," thought Andres Rata, without really 
 knowing just why he should desire to win Irurtia. 
 
 The money-lender, on his part, suspected the 
 mulatto's genuflexions. Nothing so shocked Irurtia 
 as to see his name in print. Ever since, three years 
 before, those burglars had visited his house at night, 
 and the State had poked its nose into the doncami- 
 lesque^^ methods of conducting usury, the name of 
 Irurtia had not appeared vex the gazettes nor in the 
 daUy chronicles. Finding it now in El Constitu- 
 donal, the administration paper, first in connection 
 with the banquet at Chicharra's home and after- 
 wards under the most trivial pretexts, the usurer was 
 not in the slightest degree flattered. 
 
 Don Camilo had of old professed that fear of the 
 press which is felt by all who have lived a life that 
 will not bear publicity. No excessive light for 
 clothes, consciences or lives that bear stains. Hia 
 inextinguishable foundation of mistrust was stirred ; 
 and from that slimy bed of unclean, gelatinous senti- 
 ments rose an almost defensive prayer, which he was 
 on the point of uttering, for Andres Rata to stop 
 11 Fonned, of course, from don Cainilo. 
 
120 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 mentioning him in the press, not even by way of 
 praise. But don CamUo Irurtia, who, if not the 
 wings of an eagle, had the wings of a bat — that is 
 to say, who was of a membranous, nocturnal spirit, 
 and capable of flight, however awkward and un- 
 successful it might seem — did not wish to show 
 the displeasure he felt when the press began to 
 bandy his name, even though it burnt incense be- 
 fore that name. "I won't let him discover my irrita- 
 tion," he said to himself, thinking of Rata; "neither 
 will I show contentment or the slightest gratitude. 
 It would work in the opposite way to which I 
 intended." Therefore when Andres Rata an- 
 nounced two or three times that El Constitucional 
 had on the previous evening referred to "the great 
 financier, with the admiration that was his due," 
 the usurer, who knew by heart the sheet referred to, 
 would reply: "Good; I'll buy a copy of the paper 
 and see what it says." Wherefore Irurtia was in 
 no wise affected by the pompous phrases of adula- 
 tion nor the odorous incense that Rata burned be- 
 fore his nostrils. 
 
 Andres Rata could inspire him only with an in- 
 eradicable feeling of mistrust, although Irurtia 
 could not understand why. No sooner would he 
 encounter Rata than don CamUo would be on his 
 guard, with the precaution of one who catches sight 
 of a sign : "Beware of Pickpockets." 
 
 That afternoon, when Irurtia, issuing from the 
 Agualonga zaguan, passed by the window where 
 Olga and her betrothed were conversing, the latter 
 annexed himself to the usurer and together they 
 walked ofif up the street. 
 
THE CRUSTACEAN 121 
 
 The sun had set. The shadows, suddenly, like a 
 curtain being drawn, darkened all space. In the 
 vault of the firmament, which shortly before had 
 been blue and had changed to an indistinct dark- 
 ness, white Venus was already shining like a drop 
 of luminous water, while reddish Mars gleamed like 
 a live coal. At the foot of Mars were the Geminae, 
 greenish yellow with envy. Stars here and there 
 blinked their golden eyes. 
 
 In the street, more modest lights — the munic- 
 ipal lamps — likewise glittered; and the gas butter- 
 flies fluttered their restless wings of light, while the 
 electric arcs seemed chimerical birds in globular 
 glass cages, nervously and resplendently flitting 
 about. 
 
 "Only a moment ago," said Andres to his compan- 
 ion, for the sake of saying something — "only a 
 moment ago the sun was shining, and all at once — 
 pum! — night." 
 
 As don Camilo made no reply, Andres Rata con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "Have you ever noticed, don Camilo, how brief 
 our tropical twilights are? In other zones, they 
 say ..." 
 
 Irurtia interrupted him with evident displeasure: 
 
 "Frankly, I never did; nor do I know any other 
 land than my own, nor can I compare the twilights 
 of Caracas, which I may say I have never seen, 
 because they have never attracted my attention, 
 with those of other zones, which, I repeat, I don't 
 know." 
 
 Taking the money-lender's rudeness as a joke, 
 Andres exclaimed: 
 
122 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Do you mean to say you've never seen any sun- 
 sets, don Camilo? One would imagine you were 
 blind!" 
 
 And ironically, he added: 
 
 "It's such a beautiful sight . . . and so cheap!" 
 
 "Cheap, you say, meaning that it does not cost 
 money? That may be, for somebody else. Not for 
 me, though. The half hour that I might waste in 
 barren contemplation I employ in resting body and 
 spirit, in recovering strength to be used next day 
 and translated into money, or else I dedicate it to 
 thinking, or to carrying out what has already been 
 planned. My time is money. If I waste it, I lose. 
 Now you see." 
 
 "But life should be sweetened, don Camilo. Not 
 everything should be work. And you can't deny 
 that this sight produces pleasure. The painters and 
 poets ..." 
 
 "But I'm neither a painter nor a poet. As for 
 artists, that's another matter. They do very well 
 to contemplate Nature; that's their business. Be- 
 sides giving them pleasure, such contemplation is in 
 their line. Don't imagine that they're so dis- 
 interested; that, I repeat, is their business. Men 
 would be disinterested if they devoted themselves to 
 that which does not give them pleasure, or fame, 
 or gain: a poet, to medicine; a physician, to paint- 
 ing; a painter, to industry; a manufacturer, to as- 
 tronomy; an astronomer, to chemistry. But that 
 painters and poets should take pleasure in the con- 
 templation of Nature is neither novel nor is it 
 disinterested endeavor; that, I repeat, is their busi- 
 ness. As to the theory of sweetening life, it seems 
 
THE CRUSTACEAN 123 
 
 very sensible to me. Only that some sweeten it 
 with one thing and some with another. I, too, eat 
 sugar ... of my own kind." 
 
 They were approaching the comer. Don Camilo 
 wished to get rid of Andres Rata, and asked him: 
 
 "And you, what direction are you taking?" 
 
 "This one," replied the human leech, waving his 
 arm vaguely. 
 
 "Well, I'm going this way," said Irurtia, indicat- 
 ing the opposite street. 
 
 Andres Rata understood — how could he have 
 failed to do so? — Irurtia's intention, which, if it 
 were not outright offensive at least clearly revealed 
 his desire to shake himself free of his companion, 
 and in his heart, without being able to help it, he 
 applauded the money-lender's brusk manner. "This 
 man is a power," he thought to himself. "He 
 doesn't entangle himself in vain formulas, but goes 
 straight and boldly to his objective." Rata's 
 corneas gleamed yellow in the light of a street-lamp, 
 as if they were streaked with nicotine. The purple 
 blubber-lip of the negroid contracted into an in- 
 definable grimace, while Andres grasped the hand 
 of the rogue in this enforced good-bye. 
 /Through his inner feeling of insignificance, of 
 littleness, or perhaps of cowardice. Rata inwardly 
 applauded this bold fellow who had just insulted 
 him, or what amounted to the same thing, with an 
 undisguised scorn. 
 
 How distinct he was from Irurtia! He felt the 
 necessity of smiling, of fawning, of kissing hands, 
 of licking feet; his sole preoccupation consisted in 
 getting himself to be tolerated, as if he had no 
 
124 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 genuine right to existence. The strong spirits who 
 fought as strong spirits filled him with antipathy. 
 He fought in another manner; not with his fists 
 and his teeth, like Irurtia, but with honied words, 
 adulating smiles, foot-scrapings and doflBngs of his 
 hat. But those strong personalities who had al- 
 ready arrived at the summit, either of power or 
 of fortune, inspired in htm. the utmost respect. He 
 would never have been able to attack them. He 
 loved Olga not so much for her beauty or for her- 
 self as because she represented, first of all, a social 
 value, and secondly, because of the belle's imperious, 
 dominating character; that is to say, in her he be- 
 held will-power, courage, dominion, the lash, his 
 master. 
 
 Andres Rata, covered by his ignominy as by a 
 protective shell, flexible despite its hard surface, 
 belongs to a species of crustacean as yet unclassi- 
 fied. The integument of this crustacean is invisible 
 to the eye: it is a crust formed in the soul; but 
 that crust does not prevent agility in vileness, for 
 it possesses segments, just as do the shells of the 
 crustaceans known to zoology. 
 
II 
 
 RHEUMATISM AND LOVESICKNESS 
 
 "IT THEN, that afternoon, having paid his daily 
 W visit to the Agualongas, Irurtia returned to 
 his wretched shack after his conversation with the 
 crustacean Andres Rata, he found that supper was 
 not only not served, but that it was not even on 
 the way. 
 
 Stretched out on her cot, with a yellow and red 
 Madras kerchief covering her white head of hair, 
 whose locks showed at the temples, Tomasa was 
 bellowing as if she were being skinned alive. She 
 was dying, she said. Those remedies of Cirilo's were 
 no good. The only thing a played-out, useless old 
 woman like her could do was to die in abandonment, 
 like a dog. 
 
 These well-deserved reproaches touched Irurtia's 
 heart. After all, this was a case of a self-sacrificing 
 woman with whom he had spent all his life. He 
 tried to soothe the old woman's spirit, since words 
 were of no avail to soothe her physical pains. 
 
 "For God's sake, Tomasa! How you do carry on ! 
 Anybody would think you were a little girl crying 
 for her mother who had died the night before. I 
 don't recognize you. You, the strong one ; you, the 
 good one, the only person I love; you, the only one 
 for whom I feel any affection, complaining now, 
 believing me guilty of neglecting you, and that 
 
 125 
 
126 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 you're going to die, just because that cursed rheuma- 
 tism is clutching your limbs. Don't be so unjust; 
 don't be a dolt; don't be so chicken-hearted." 
 
 If her rheumatism had vanished on the instant, 
 leaving her as agile as a ballet-dancer and as aerial 
 as a sylph, Tomasa could not have felt greater relief 
 or deeper astonishment. She began to smile. 
 Irurtia's words had proved her panacea. And in the 
 midst of her first tears, which had not yet completely 
 evaporated — through that laughing weeping or 
 that weeping laughter, Tomasa, afraid lest she be 
 defrauded of her rights, launched her complaint 
 against Irurtia's recent conduct toward her. 
 
 "You don't care three straws that I'm going 
 around on broken legs, almost helpless, ever since 
 the devil introduced you into that Agualonga home." 
 
 In mingled vexation and kindness, Irurtia ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 "Don't be an ass, woman." 
 
 And in order to nip the quarrel in the bud and 
 not allow any loophole even for allusions, he changed 
 the subject. 
 
 After a while, he ventured: 
 
 "First thing tomorrow I'll fetch a doctor from the 
 University — one of the kind you like — just to 
 see whether the feUow can cure you in a jiffy." 
 
 "Fine!" said Tomasa, while her countenance be- 
 trayed a melancholy doubt. 
 
 "Fine, yes, fine! And you'd already be feeling 
 fine if this Cirilo Matamoros hadn't gone crazy." 
 
 When Irurtia left the room, Tomasa was drying 
 her two last tears; but these two tears had not been 
 wrung from her by abandonment; they were tears 
 
RHEUMATISM AND LOVESICKNESS 127 
 
 of gratitude. She made a special effort, and was 
 able to rise. Irurtia, who from his bedroom qould 
 hear her limping clatter, asked : 
 
 "But Tomasa, what nonsense do you call this? 
 What do you mean by getting up?" 
 
 And the old woman, from a heart that was always 
 full of motherliness and self-sacrifice, replied : 
 
 "Do you imagine, Camilo, that I'm going to 
 leave you without anything to eat? Not if I were 
 dying!" 
 
 Irurtia, who had begun to take off his street 
 clothes in order to dress for the house, in his oldest 
 change of clothes, remained standing in meditation, 
 holding his recently removed trousers in his hands. 
 
 Poor Tomasa! She really suffered terribly from 
 this rheumatism. And to think that he had never 
 given her a thought! How neglectful! The truth 
 was that he had many things on his mind these days. 
 
 Irurtia would not admit to himself that Rosaura, 
 or rather, his senile passion for Rosaura, was the 
 sole cause of this relative disarrangement of his 
 existence; but he confessed that she played a large 
 part. He beheld himself cooped in a blind alley, 
 or at least, one with but a single way out: marriage. 
 He didn't care to think of this; it seemed silly at 
 his age; and it seemed even more ridiculous at hia 
 age to be courting a woman who could not be his 
 mistress and whom he had no intentions of marry- 
 ing. This really was a blind alley. 
 
 And like everybody else whose mind is in a 
 maze because of some overruling passion, Irurtia's 
 thoughts rambled wildly amidst reason and un- 
 reason. 
 
128 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Not for a moment did this so wily man, despite 
 so many suspicious maneuvers, suspect that Olga, 
 Andres Rata, General Chicharra, and, in a way, 
 even Eufemia and Alcira, were in a plot to catch 
 him. Had such a thing ever occurred to him, he 
 would have made off at once and escaped the trap. 
 But never did the remotest conception of such a 
 suspicion occur to him. Even the banquet at 
 Chicharra's seemed tO' him the most natural thing 
 in the world. 
 
 Even half undressed as he was, with his shirt-tail 
 falling over his drawers, his trousers in his left hand, 
 standing in the center of the room with his eyes 
 fixed upon the candle that stood on the lamp-stand, 
 overlooking the fact that it was burning — that is 
 to say, being wasted extravagantly — the lanky 
 old miser fell to thinking of the dinner at the home 
 of the famous General Chicharra. 
 
 He had worn a brand new suit to the banquet, 
 the very same that he was now removing. He 
 bought only a frock-coat and the trousers ; the vest 
 seemed to him to be a useless adornment; he would 
 take care to keep his coat tightly buttoned; if worst 
 came to worst, he could wear his old vest. Before 
 he had purchased those two articles of clothing he 
 had spent many a moment of uncertainty. And 
 when, at last, he decided to buy them, he must 
 indeed have felt that he was deeply in love and that 
 he would surely find Rosaura Agualonga at the 
 Chicharras' — although nothing of the sort had 
 been said to him. And at that, before plunging 
 into this wild expenditure, the skinflint had tried to 
 cleanse his old cloth suit with benzine; the stains 
 
RHEUMATISM AND LOVESICKNESS 129 
 
 disappeared only in spots, here and there; but the 
 frayed elbows, the patched lapels and the tattered 
 lining — how were they to be restored? 
 
 He appeared in his brand-new suit. They placed 
 him opposite Rosaura. With her eyes almost fiery 
 red, as if from much weeping, she scarcely opened her 
 lips, remaining silent and gloomy throughout the 
 banquet. 
 
 But not on this account was the affair less ani- 
 inated. 
 
 The famous Chicharra, brimming with good 
 humor and eloquence, gave reminiscences of his 
 campaigns and recalled, in disinterested fashion, 
 the services he had lent as a statesman. The 
 stomach of the picturesque general swelled like a 
 balloon, not only with pleasure, but with food, while 
 the guests heard him attentively. His carbuncle 
 nose, more rubicund than ever because of the Bor- 
 deaux wine, suddenly assumed a deep red color. 
 This spherical Chicharra was ^ delightful. He had 
 been everything in Venezuela; evetything except 
 Archbishop and President. Andres Rata, Olga 
 Emmerich, the smiling, mischievous daughters of 
 Chicharra — especially Tula — and even Alcira — ■ 
 were all glowing and happy; they all showered 
 Irurtia with food and attentions, for it was in 
 his honor that the banquet was being given. 
 
 After dinner, as accident — that diligent inter- 
 mediary — would have it, Irurtia found himself 
 alone with Rosaura in the little salon where Olga 
 had just finished playing the piano and Tula had 
 been singing like a mocking-bird. It was only for 
 a moment — a lightning-flash. — that this intimate 
 
130 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 solitude lasted, for Rosaura, finding herself alone 
 with Irurtia, hastened to leave; they said nothing to 
 each other. . . . That moment, none the less, pro- 
 vided Irurtia with the most pleasant recollection 
 of the evening. Why? He could not explain it. 
 Silly matters of the heart. In addition, he realized 
 very clearly that the never sufficiently estimated 
 Chicharra and his wife, as well as Olga Emmerich 
 and Alcira, had discovered — with what discretion ! 
 — the secret of his love; and — with what discre- 
 tion ! — it might be said that in a tacit way they 
 approved his sentiments. This pleased him not 
 through any vanity, but because he, who was so 
 skilful and resourceful in matters of business, under- 
 stood, in all sincerity, that he was in social and senti- 
 mental matters inferior to the most superficial and 
 colorless fop. 
 
 This connivance and letting matters take their 
 course which he discovered or thought he discovered 
 in Rosaura's relatives, he, who was ordinarily so 
 suspicious and unbelieving, did not impute to trick- 
 ery, guile, plotting or an attempt to ensnare him. 
 As to Rosaura, despite the tenderness and infinite 
 benevolence of that generous soul, Irurtia divined, 
 rather than felt, a certain asperity, repulsion, an 
 obstacle, a lofty pride, that said to him: You shall 
 pass no farther. 
 
 But this obstacle served only to infuse the mili- 
 tant don Camilo with new ardor. "No matter!" 
 he told himself. "Women must be conquered! 
 They are like all strong positions: the glory consists 
 not in entering them but in capturing them." 
 
 Two weeks had gone by since the feast at the 
 
RHEUMATISM AND LOVESICKNESS 131 
 
 home of squat-figured Chicharra; ever since, don 
 Camilo came almost daily to the Agualongas, not as 
 formerly to take them out on a tour of the houses 
 that he offered them in exchange for their own, 
 but on a visit to Rosaura, as a friend of hers — al- 
 most as her suitor. How had this custom come 
 about? Little by little, like the most natural thing 
 in the world. Rosaura would receive him in the 
 parlor, alone, while Olga Emmerich would chat at 
 the window with her sweetheart, or would converse 
 with nobody, just staying there silent and wary, 
 like a Lar, like a Hermes, like a Terminus in petti- 
 coats. 
 
 Still in shirt and drawers, with his new trousers 
 in his left hand, the pensive Irurtia had sat down 
 upon the edge of the bed, seeking mechanically a 
 more convenient position for meditation. 
 
 Tomasa's voice roused him from his retrospective 
 evocations: 
 
 "Come, Camilo. Have you fallen asleep? Sup- 
 per's ready." 
 
 Don CamUo noticed that the candle had been 
 burning wastefully: it had become a mere stub! 
 And without finidiing dressing himself, as quickly 
 as a buck, he reached the lamp-stand and put out 
 the light. 
 
Ill 
 
 IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 
 
 DON CAMILO raised his eyelids and little by 
 little extended his limbs in the first stretch 
 of the morning. 
 
 Daylight, filtering in through the grating, had 
 changed the obscurity of the room into something 
 that resembled light rather than semi-gloom. 
 
 He got out of bed and started to dress. While in 
 the midst of his operations he loosened the catch- 
 bolt of the window, and through the window, which 
 was already open, penetrated a flood of light. There 
 algo penetrated a catarrhish cough : Tomasa's morn- 
 ing cough. And something else in addition invaded 
 Irurtia's tiny room, together with the light of the 
 morning and the mucous cough of the housekeeper: 
 the song of a bird. 
 
 Don Camilo, surprised at the entrance of this 
 unwonted twittering into his shack, opened the shut- 
 ters wid^ and thrusting out his head saw upon the 
 edge of a roof-tile that was covered with a greenish 
 slime, a little red and black bird. The little chirper 
 turned its eyes from one edge to the other, as if 
 seized with fear; its interrupted song did not seem 
 to proceed from astonishment or quarrelsomeness, 
 but rather appeared to be a call or a signal: "Come, 
 come!" or, "Here I am." Irurtia paused to watch 
 the reddish black bird. 
 
 132 
 
IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 133 
 
 How pretty the creature was! If only the tile 
 were daubed with bird-lime and he could catch 
 the bird and keep it! The old fellow tried to 
 whistle and even snapped his fingers with a vague 
 idea of changing into a bird and also with the inten- 
 tion of deceiving the triller. When the fledgling 
 caught sight of that hawk-like Irurtia, it fled 
 abruptly from his presence, leaving his whistle on 
 his lips and his .fingers still engaged in their deceit- 
 ful snapping; whether in mockery or simply scared, 
 it flew away- 
 
 A few moments later Irurtia and Tomasa were 
 having their breakfast, which, as usual, consisted 
 of two cups of coffee flavored with liquor, and a 
 couple of rolls at a centimo apiece. Tomasa had 
 spent a terrible night. She could stand no more. 
 The damp breeze at dawn martyrized her. 
 
 "I no longer can walk," she complained. "I just 
 drag along. Soon I won't be able to move from 
 my chair or from the cot. How horrible, good God !" 
 
 For some time past she had been growing thinner, 
 which could hardly have been believed possible 
 of this human asparagus. Continuous suffering 
 wrinkled her face more and more. Tomasa's skin, 
 indeed, was tightly wrinkled about her bones. Her 
 large Madras kerchief, red and yellpwi tied around 
 her head over the ever unkempt white shocks of 
 hair, looked like a Spanish flag covering an uncarded 
 bundle of cotton. Spain had gone to poor Tomasa's 
 head. 
 
 While the old woman complained of her numer- 
 ous pains, Irurtia inwardly wondered how it could 
 have happened that he should not have noticed the 
 
134 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 rapid decline in that woman's health. Tomasa 
 looked like a skeleton! He justified himself with 
 the exculpating thought: "Tomasa never com- 
 plains!" 
 
 This sort of reasoning was nothing but a wile 
 to deceive himself — to prevent his admission that 
 an absorbing thought occupied his heart, — an idea 
 that had taken complete possession of his spirit — 
 and that a bandage had fallen over his eyes, as if, 
 blinding them to surrounding things, it thus 
 enabled them to see more clearly what was going on 
 in the sequestrated internal world of the money- 
 lender. 
 
 It is true that Tomasa did not complain every 
 moment, particularly during the weeks directly pre- 
 vious, for she had in a certain way been wounded by 
 Irurtia's indifference; but often she would breathe 
 her complaint in this exclamation : "What is left of 
 the Tomasa that used to be? A shadow!" 
 
 Irurtia reminded the old woman of the promise he 
 had made her on the night before. 
 
 "Yesterday, when I came back from the street," 
 he said, "I offered to have you examined by a doctor 
 from Caracas — a University physician — the kind 
 you like. Well, then, he shall come this very day. 
 I'm going out at once to hunt one up for you." 
 
 And as one who carries out a self-imposed sacri- 
 fice, and hopes, at least, that it will be appreci- 
 ated by the person for whom it is being made, 
 he asked: 
 
 "Are you satisfied?" 
 
 Yes! Tomasa was well content with such a gen- 
 erous promise! All her faith in Cirilo Matamoros 
 
IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 135 
 
 had vanished like a cloud. She did not even care 
 to hear the quack's name. 
 
 "Don't even mention that Matamoros to me, 
 CamUo. I'll never take one of his medicines again 
 or apply another leaf from his herbarium, not if I 
 were to die. His filth hasn't brought me even a 
 quarter of an hour's relief." 
 
 They rose from the table; she, now filled with 
 the hope of a cure, or at least of an improvement; 
 he, content with himself, and looking upon himself 
 as one capable of disinterested, generous, knightly 
 deeds. 
 
 He was already reading his Noticiero, which he 
 had bought through the window, of a passing ven- 
 dor, when the iron knocker sounded from the street 
 door. It was Berroteran, the patient, diplomatic 
 mason, who, according to the peons, had "sliced 
 Irurtia's navel," because he never contradicted him, 
 but rather, adapting himself to that temperament, 
 had been able to win the suspicious fellow's confi- 
 dence. His influence with Irurtia grew steadily, 
 and steadily he thrust his own hand further and 
 further into those affairs of the usurer that con- 
 cerned the remodelling and the repairing of houses 
 in Caracas. 
 
 No sooner had Berroteran entered than the 
 knocker sounded again. The mason went out to 
 open it, and in came a little girl of the neighborhood 
 with an empty bird cage in her hand. 
 
 Timidly and awe-struck she began: 
 
 "I've come here to see if you won't do me the 
 favor of finding out whether a house bird has been 
 flying around here." 
 
136 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Come in, my little girl," replied Irurtia, almost 
 paternally; "look around for yourself. But you'll 
 find nothing. . . . This morning there was a red 
 and black bird flitting about on the roof ..." 
 
 "That's the one." 
 
 "Well, it flew in the direction of thope willow 
 trees." 
 
 The little girl smiled her thanks for the informa- 
 tion and went off toward the large yard — a dairy 
 -^ where a dozen willow trees pointed their green 
 fingers skyward. 
 
 Berroteran, who knew Irurtia so well, was 
 thunderstruck, not alone by don Camilo's affability, 
 but by the invitation the miser had extended to the 
 girl to search the house, thus revealing his anxiety 
 about the bird. Even when he left, the mason was 
 still asking himself, as he sauntered along the side- 
 walk: 
 
 "What can be happening to don Camilo? He 
 seems to be a different man!" 
 
 A half hour, at the most, after Berroteran's de- 
 parture, Irurtia went out. He was going to hunt 
 up a doctor for Tomasa. 
 
 When he arrived at the Plaza de la Candelaria 
 he looked at the public clock: Nine. 
 
 Don Camilo paused for a moment. Which di- 
 rection should he take? Which physician should he 
 engage? The night before it had occurred to Irurtia 
 to call in the services of some mediocre quack — 
 some young fellow who had not been able to gradu- 
 ate and put on ijo airs ; he would charge less. The 
 worst of it was, he knew nobody. He thought of 
 going to the University and getting some student; 
 
IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 137 
 
 but he hesitated; what were these students but a set 
 of boobies and nincompoops? No; he didn't care to 
 expose himself to student nonsense. Then he 
 thought of the hospitals: an interne; that was it, 
 some hospital practitioner — some studious, poor 
 chap, who had already had some experience and not, 
 like the University students, mere theory. Nothing 
 better could suit his case. 
 
 He walked resolutely on for a few meters, intend- 
 ing to visit the Vargas hospital, when he paused 
 again, his head bowed. The hospital was so far 
 off! "Besides," he reasoned, "those chicks think 
 themselves roosters already." And by means of 
 such a figure don Camilo expressed to himself the 
 opinion that a hospital practitioner could charge him 
 almost as dearly as a regular physician. 
 
 It was then that he thought of good Cirilo Mata- 
 moros, and deplored the humble healer's failure to 
 relieve Tomasa, as weU as Tomasa's prejudices 
 against the healer. What a pity, truly! For 
 after all, Cirilo knew as much about rheumatism as 
 the most expert physician. He was no fool, not 
 by any means — this Cirilo Matamoros. The native 
 doctor's successful cures could no longer be reckoned 
 upon the fingers of both hands. Hadn't he him- 
 self, Irurtia, more than once entrusted himself to> 
 Cirilo? And hadn't Cirilo rdieved him of all the 
 pain and bodily suffering that had brought him to 
 the curanderof Even more: Tomasa, the very 
 Tomasa that now reviled Cirilo and can't bear the 
 sight of him — wasn't she indebted to him for pre-; 
 vious cures? 
 
 This inflexible prejudice of Tomasa against the 
 
138 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 good countryman seemed most unjust to the money- 
 lender; Matamoros, after all) did his best and gave 
 all he could: his learning, his medicines, and gave 
 them without pretense, without chaffering, gratis! 
 Suppose he consulted Matamoros for the last time 
 to find out whether he could cure the old woman — 
 yes or no ! After all, nothing would be lost by con- 
 sulting him. 
 
 And since, in a man of such resolution, deciding a 
 thing mentally always was equivalent to carrying 
 it out — for Irurtia, a man of action, synchronized 
 his thought and his deeds as far as was possible in 
 so wily and suspecting a soul — Irurtia started walk- 
 ing down Candelaria Street, determined to make the 
 house of Matamoros in the neighboring district of 
 Chacao on foot. 
 
 "Only a moment ago," he thought, "the Vargas 
 hospital seemed distant, for I hadn't made up my 
 mind; now I dare to walk aU the way to Chacao, 
 and I'd go even further, without counting the 
 leagues." 
 
 Indeed, he set out at a lively, energetic pace, 
 covering block after block in joyous fashion. 
 
 After a brisk walk he came to a bifurcation of 
 the avenue. The right leads to the central rail- 
 road station, while at the left the road turns off 
 obliquely; by this oblique street one descends to the 
 cottages of Quebrada Honda, and somewhat farther 
 on, what began as a street finishes as a cart-road, 
 the highway leading to Cabana Grande, Chacao, 
 Petare and so on. 
 
 Irurtia had fully meant to make this little trip 
 to Chacao on foot. But as he gazed at the dusty 
 
IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 139 
 
 road, the sun that was beginning to get hot, and 
 considered the damage that would be done to his 
 brodkins by such a journey, the time he would 
 invest in going and returning, he recalled that the 
 train, for some 50 centimos, would take him thither, 
 and for another 50 would take him back, all within 
 an hour, and that, going by train, he would avoid 
 fatigue, wear and tear upon his shoes, and the total 
 loss of the morning in a road obscured by eddies of 
 dust and baked by the noonday sun. 
 
 He chose the railroad. 
 
 When Irurtia reached the station it was not a 
 trainr that was leaving, but an electric car. 
 
 He inquired at the ticket-office. As the price was 
 the same for the train and the car, he took the car. 
 
 What a delightful ride in that open-air car! 
 
 The electric-car runs along, at first over a broken 
 plain on which, here and there, may be seen the 
 white farmhouses with their roofs of purple tiles. 
 
 On this uneven plain there die the foothills of the 
 august Cordillera, a spur of the Andes, which sepa- 
 rates the Caribbean sea from the valley of Caracas; 
 and as the railroad runs along parallel to the moun- 
 tain range, the noble range keeps the travelers con- 
 tinuous company. What charm that of those slopes 
 through which, here and there, come roaring forth 
 torrents that gleam in the sun, and which now and 
 then permit glimpses of the cultivated land and the 
 charred spaces that betray the criminal clearing of 
 the ground. 
 
 Irurtia, though neither a painter nor a poet, as 
 he had explained to that busybody Andres Rata in 
 a moment of ill-humor, had fixed his gaze upon the 
 noblest summit of the range: the Silla de Avila. 
 
140 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 When the car stopped, he was shaken out of his 
 contemplation. 
 
 He looked around : they were at Sabana Grande. 
 The houses grew fewer and fewer in number. To 
 the right, between the highway and the railroad, the 
 cottages, surrounded by vine-clad mudwalls and 
 gardens in front, peered in groups upon the edge of 
 the line; to the left, in the direction of the moun- 
 tains, are seen amidst a grove of fruit trees, a 
 white country house and a mill, whose snow-white 
 wings beat above a profusion of green tree-tops, 
 among which gleam golden oranges; the guava 
 fruit with their rosy hearts are ripening and the 
 dark guanabonas with their huge stomachs are re- 
 fining their acid honey. 
 
 The car continues on its way through the fields. 
 As it turns to the right, it runs at some distance 
 from the mountain range amid cane haciendas and 
 cornstalks; Irurtia looked from one side to the 
 other; the green poles of the cornstalks and the 
 flexible lances of the sugar-cane shone in the sun- 
 light. 
 
 One more stop amid the fields, and then they ar- 
 rived at Chacao. 
 
 The long-shanked Irurtia got off. 
 
 The center of the village was two or three min- 
 utes from the station. Don Camilo entered a lane 
 leading to the hamlet — a cluster of scant dwellings 
 parted in two by the cart-road. 
 
 The dusty highway covered with a thick, filthy, 
 dull ochre hue the white walls of the cottages that 
 are lined along the way; and these cottages,"^ which 
 were whitewashed and spotted with dust and rain. 
 
IN QUEST OF HIPPOCRATES 141 
 
 appeared aged and decrepit, in marked contrast to 
 the smiling, eternal youth of the country landscape. 
 But Irurtia eyed everything with an enchanted 
 glance. After all, this was a veritable pleasure trip 
 for him; he didn't commit such escapades every 
 day. He must take fuU advantage of it and get 
 all the benefit possible even though it were only 
 with his eyes, out of the hamlet's white walls, green 
 plantations and blue skies. 
 
IV 
 THE FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 
 
 DON CAMILO had little trouble in locating the 
 country-doctor's pulperia. It was well known. 
 The first person he asked directed him to it. 
 
 From the entrance and through the wide-open 
 doors, or rather, through the open doorway, Irurtia 
 catches sight of Matamoros in the section of eat- 
 ables. Leaning a8;ainst the counter, a pencil in his 
 right hand and a sheet of paper before him, Cirilo is 
 going over his accounts. 
 
 A little chap of fourteen or fifteen — surely his 
 clerk — stands not far from Cirilo. They are not 
 selling anything at that moment, for there is none 
 to buy. A mule-driver has just left. The place 
 is deserted. 
 
 Taking advantage of a warm gush of light, a 
 heliotherapic dog is giving himself a sun-bath upon 
 the brick pavement. With a sultanesque air, fol- 
 lowed by a white hen and another of ashen hue, a 
 spiny-footed ganaguey rooster with a scarlet crest 
 and a conqueror's stride is parading along. The 
 youthful clerk frightens away the flies: hither and 
 thither he goes, waving a bundle of long paper strips 
 tied to the end of a bamboo stick. The flies, flitting 
 from one comer, settle in another. Little black dots 
 denote their traces on the lamp tube. 
 
 When Cirilo Matamoros recognized don Camilo, 
 
 142 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 143 
 
 he swelled with pride, foreseeing the purpose of his 
 visit. Too bad the place wasn't swarming with 
 customers, as it usually did in the afternoon, when 
 the peons stop working and foregather for a chat and 
 to moisten their gullets with a swallow or more 
 of brandy; or as in the early morning, when cooks 
 and family servants of the neighborhood come in 
 crowds for their daily purchases. A pity! 
 
 "Don Camilo! You here!" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Here I am." 
 
 "And how's the sick lady getting on?" 
 
 "Same as ever. No improvement. That's why 
 I've come." 
 
 'Why didn't you call me up on the telephone, don 
 Camilo? You know that I'd have come as fast as 
 lightning." 
 
 "Many thanks. I wished to come in person. I'll 
 explain." 
 
 Don Camilo surveyed the store. It was no mere 
 shanty. Matamoros must have a little money* 
 "How much can this pulperia be worth?" Irurtia 
 asked himself. And in order to learn whether the 
 stock sold quickly, he questioned the owner: 
 
 "You have an excellent supply. Do many people 
 pass on the road? That is, many customers?" 
 
 As for passing, plenty passed. But as for stop- 
 ping, that was another song. Cirilo went into de- 
 tails. Few indeed stopped at his place, with Caracas 
 only a step away. 
 
 "Then the jieighbors, the peons, the people from 
 the haciendas, must patronize you. . . ." 
 • Matamoros continued his information. 
 
 The peons were the support of the house. As for 
 
144 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 the wealthy neighbors, they ordered everything from 
 Caracas, by wholesale. Nevertheless, Matamoros 
 had no right to complain. The traffic on the high- 
 way was so continuous that some business was al- 
 ways sure to turn up. The river carries so much 
 water that some of it drips into the hamlet. 
 
 While Cirilo Matamoros continued his chatter and 
 showed the place to Irurtia, Irurtia, in a jiffy, had 
 taken a mental inventory of the store. 
 
 The counter, which was of wood painted gray and 
 covered by a sheet of zinc, nailed with copper tacks: 
 200 bolivares. 
 
 On the counter a balance with copper plates; near 
 the scales, a roU of leaf tobacco ; a huge tin can of 
 ground coffee; and further on, near the end, two 
 glass cases, one filled with sweets and cheap pastry, 
 the other with articles or rows of dry-goods: 200 
 bolivares. 
 
 The protruding shelving or frame-work at the 
 bottom for foodstuffs and other goods, with the small 
 square compartments, each identical; and the back 
 with its horizontal, parallel subdivisions: 250 boli- 
 vares. 
 
 Each subdivision or shelf of this back contains 
 objects distinct from those of the parallel sub- 
 division below or above. Thus, one shelf exhibits 
 sardines, small pease, salmon, large oysters, aU sorts 
 of preserved goods: 150 bolivares. 
 
 Another contains liters, bottles and half-sized 
 bottles — that is to say, oil, vinegar, wines, liquors: 
 150 bolivares. 
 
 In the next are glass-ware and earthen- ware: 
 vases, stew-pots, ladles, pots: 60 bolivares. 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 145 
 
 In the next, candles, matches, cigarettes, tobacco : 
 60 bolivares. 
 
 On the floor, or upon stands, sacks of Indian corn, 
 beans, kidney-beans and rice open their wide 
 mouths; dried cod lies like yellow parchment; the 
 spotted morays lie under leather lids; cans of kero- 
 sene are heaped up together with little cases of 
 spaghetti, macaroni and other Italian dainties: 
 1,000 bolivares. 
 
 From a beam hang, like dried serpents, strings of 
 garlic and rows of onions; and from the wall, 
 bunches of machetes, pruning-hooks, gardeners' hoes 
 and other field tools: 200 bolivares. 
 
 Here and there may be seen naUs, guaimaros, a 
 hammer; packages of firecrackers, bunches of sky- 
 rockets, balls of cabuya: 50 bolivares. 
 
 On the top shelf, almost touching the roof, pre- 
 sides the harness wear, like adventurers who have 
 been raised by accident to the most exalted position, 
 roUs of halters and headstalls, cruppers, pack- 
 saddles, a pair of tailor's gooses and a portable furr 
 nace: 500 bolivares. 
 
 In addition, Irurtia noted, on a low table, within 
 reach of the hand, wide-mouthed bottles: these con- 
 tained the brandy for the peons — sugar-cane 
 brandy, white, transparent; cucuy brandy, pink; 
 brandy with mint and water-cress, green. ... 
 
 And he noticed also two huge cheeses that reared 
 their bulk upon a smooth table; they were already 
 wounded by the slashing knife: the one was Mara- 
 cay cheese, fresh and milky; the other was of cheaper 
 and harder sort -^ a cheese from the Plains. Not 
 far from the cheese was a tin can with bulging sides. 
 
146 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 filled with Yankee butter that had already begun to 
 be sold at retail — that is to say, oleomargarine, 
 which is to say, that canned poison which the 
 Yankee does not care to consume in his own land 
 of Porkopolis, but which he exports to the land of 
 imbeciles. This Yankee butter, a cluster of bananas 
 and both cheeses were worth, according to Irurtia's 
 estimate, not very much — a matter of some 70, or 
 perhaps 80 bolivares. 
 
 Don Camilo recapitulated : "I may be mistaken in 
 this or that estimate, for I'm no merchant; but 
 Cirilo Matamoros has here in the vicinity of three 
 thousand bolivares' worth of stock between his food- 
 stuffs and his tools." 
 
 Then he thought: "He must have got thena on 
 credit from some business house in Caracas: surely 
 from some wily German dealer. They must have 
 charged him from 50 to 100 per cent more on each 
 article, under the pretext that they were giving it 
 to him on credit; in addition to that, those that are 
 sold by weight must be fraudulently weighed. 
 So that this fellow is obliged to pay for this 
 three thousand bolivares' worth of stock in the 
 neighborhood of seven thousand, if not more; 
 which is to say, he'll have to work forever, if he 
 continues in such a ruinous line, in order to 
 enrich the Germans and the other vampires of 
 Caracas." 
 
 After having carefully showed the shop to Irurtia, 
 Cirilo led him out. 
 
 He took him through a door at the side which 
 communicated with the family's dwelling. Don 
 Camilo suddenly found himself in a village parlor. 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 147 
 
 The house, despite its rustic, countrified charac- 
 ters, was by no means bad; it was none of your 
 palm-leaf hovels nor your Indian's huts with a 
 thatched roof, nor an Uncle Tom's cabin; it was 
 a pretty little home, all of rough stone and mortar. 
 Order and comfort were everywhere evident. One 
 could see the unmistakable signs of a woman's indus- 
 trious hand. Don Camilo, partly through courtesy 
 and partly through curiosity, said: 
 
 "It's a pretty house. How much can such a 
 place be worth, friend Matamoros." 
 
 Cirilo told him the value. The old Shylock, 
 knowing that the property belonged to the grocer, 
 exclaimed: 
 
 "Now you see how a fellow can get rich in 
 Chacao." 
 
 "It was inherited from my father," replied the 
 other." 
 
 "Ah! Inherited?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. The same as the little field behind 
 the house; about ten thousand square meters." 
 
 They sat down in rockers of wood varnished yel- 
 low, before a table varnished a dark color. From 
 within came the indistinct voice of a woman. Mata- 
 moros, eager to come to the medical point, asked 
 as soon as they were seated: 
 
 "Very well, don Camilo. What's the matter with 
 your sick woman? How can I be of help?" 
 
 "Tomasa's not getting on at all." 
 
 "But is there any special symptom? Is she fail- 
 ing?" 
 
 Instead of answering, don Camilo asked a ques- 
 tion: 
 
148 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "I want you to tell me, in all truth, friend 
 Matamoros, if you really feel equal to curing 
 Tomasa." 
 
 A man of science would have hesitated before 
 replying. He would have thought, not of rheuma- 
 tism as an abstract ailment, but of sick Tomasa 
 — of Tomasa's rheumatism, which might be compli- 
 cated with such and such a condition peculiar to the 
 individual patient.- But not Cirilo Matamoros. He 
 thought of the malady, not of the one that suffered 
 from it; of rheumatism, not of Tomasa. He knew 
 by heart all the resources of creole pharmaceutics 
 which cured that particular ailment or relieved the 
 pain; he had applied them- a hundred times with 
 success, and he exclaimed, roundly and boastfully: 
 
 "Can I cure it? I should say I can! Whether I 
 know rheumatism and how it is cured! Whether I 
 have cured any rheumatics! Why, just look: dona 
 Josefa Linares, of Caracas, had a servant who ..." 
 
 He was about to plunge into references. Irurtia 
 interrupted him, exultantly: 
 
 "Jiist what / said! Matamoros knows as much 
 about these matters as anybody else. He could 
 make the very lame walk, and fit disabled arms so 
 that they could fell wild bulls by twisting their 
 tails." 
 
 Then Shylock Irurtia explained minutely to the 
 native doctor that Tomasa suffered such and such 
 pains at such and such hours, that she could hardly 
 make such and such movements, that the cool of 
 the night and the cold air of the morning tortured 
 her, that she was getting thinner every time you 
 looked at her, that she had lost confidence in 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 149 
 
 Matamoros's remedies, and that he himself, don 
 Camilo Irurtia, yes sir, don CamUo Irurtia in per- 
 son, who was such a partisan of Cirilo, had been 
 almost tempt^ to have recourse to some profes- 
 sional with an academic diploma. This idea of 
 coming to him for a final consultation had saved the 
 situation. He would leave in a peaceful frame of 
 mind, without giving another moment's thought to 
 doctors or medicines, for he had implicit faith in 
 Matamoros' confidence, in his practical knowledge 
 and his herbal remedies. 
 
 Cirilo could not recover from his astonishment. 
 He could see, with retrospective vexation, that this 
 patient had been on the point of escaping him ! And 
 he without so much as suspecting it! Thus dp 
 misfortunes arrive, without announcing themselves. 
 Cirilo's thick eyebrows seemed to lower more and 
 more, imparting to the poor man's countenance a, 
 tragic aspect. 
 
 Out of a feeling of gratitude toward don Camilo, 
 and through love of his native pharmaceutics, as 
 well as to display his learning and raise his prestige 
 in Irurtia's eyes, Cirilo Matamoros arose and invited 
 Shylock to follow him. 
 
 "Just come over this way, don Camilo. You'll 
 see for yourself whether I possess the means of com- 
 bating rheumatism." 
 
 Don Camilo wavered; he thought himself lost. 
 Imagining that Matamoros was about to inflict a 
 lecture upon him, he declared : 
 
 "My time is limited. I shouldn't care to miss the 
 next train." 
 
 Cirilo, inflexible, would listen to no excuses. 
 
150 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 There were trains at every moment. Don Camilo 
 would not lose much time. 
 
 "Come," he repeated enthusiastically, his look 
 tragic, his air determined, and his general bearing 
 more lugubrious than ever. Come, and then you'll 
 tell me whether I can or cannot cure rheuma- 
 tism. ..." 
 
 He seemed to issue a challenge. 
 
 "Not only rheumatism, but mange, syphilis, yel- 
 low fever, marsh-fever, typhus ..." 
 
 Don Camilo found it impossible to break away 
 and followed Matamoros into the inner part of the 
 house. Matamoros, as he advanced, did not stop 
 talking; his eyebrows bristled, his hair stood up 
 straight like a brush, his glance was truculent, his 
 aspect ferocious: 
 
 "... yellow fever, marsh-fever, typhus, scarla- 
 tina. ... I have cures for everything. The only 
 thing in which I may be mistaken — like everybody 
 else, even the most learned — is in the diagnosis. 
 There are certain diseases whose symptoms resemble 
 those of other diseases. And since the patient doesn't 
 say to you, 'I have typhus, or malaria, or yellow 
 fever,' a fellow is hard put to know which saint to 
 commend himself to, and which remedy to prescribe. 
 In the case of some illnesses, such as carare, it is the 
 best way: that's clear. With dysentery, for ex- 
 ample, I never make a mistake. , , . . " 
 
 "Yes, that can be smelled," said Irurtia. 
 
 "It can be smelled and can be recognized," 
 affirmed Cirilo, without abandoning his air of a veri- 
 table Moor-slayer,^^ although at bottom he couldn't 
 kill even a fly. . . . 
 
 li A pun upon the literal meaning of Matamoros' name. 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 151 
 
 "It can be smelled and be recognized. ... In 
 other cases I always ask myself, at first, somewhat at 
 a loss: Can it be scarlatina? Can it be measles? 
 Can it be syphilis? Cancer? But once I make 
 sure of the malady from which the patient is suffer- 
 ing, zip! I prescribe the proper remedy and he is 
 absolutely and irrevocably cured . . . unless God 
 disposes differently." 
 
 They reached a tiny room with kalsomined walls; 
 it was very light, having two windows that faced the 
 fields. A simple row of unvarnished, unpainted 
 pine shelves ran around the entire room. 
 
 In every compartment of the shelving stand rows 
 of flasks, bottles, jars, flagons, even terra cotta stew- 
 pots, all, or almost all, bearing labels. 
 
 There is also in the room a strange piece of furni- 
 ture full of little boxes, or drawers. Within each 
 box or drawer, every one of which bears its speci- 
 fying inscription, are heaped up leaves, barks and 
 roots of trees, withered plants, dead flowerets and 
 fruits long dried. 
 
 On the floor, and hanging from ropes, are seen 
 plants, still green or hung up to dry. Little canvas 
 or linen sacks and leather bags exhibit paunches 
 filled with seeds, silks and tubers. 
 
 Upon a table at the rear is a delicate little balance; 
 on another table of stouter fibre sleeps a mortar 
 With its mouth wide open, while the pestle and the 
 knife rest against its rim. 
 
 Under this second table are ranged bottles and 
 flasks, and before the battery of flasks and bottles, 
 like an ofiicer before his company of soldiers, a demi- 
 john swells with peacock pride. 
 
152 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 An indefinable odor, a strange commingling of 
 the pharmacy and the open fields, is exhaled by that 
 room. 
 
 There lacked only the flagons filled with colored 
 water and illuminated by a lamp from behind, and 
 the inevitable tape-worm in alchohol, for don Camilo 
 to believe himself inside of a town apothecary. 
 
 Matamoros, enjoying in advance the surprise that 
 he knew he would produce upon Irurtia with all this 
 array of drugs, which was arranged in as good order 
 as the shop itself, if not better, stopped suddenly in 
 the center of the room, and extending his arms about 
 him in a circle, exclaimed with manifest and legit- 
 imate pride: 
 
 "Just look, don Camilo!" 
 
 His sinister air had almost disappeared. Mata- 
 moros, the formidable Matamoros, was smiling and 
 content. Even the wiry hair of his dark head 
 seemed less stiff. 
 
 Don Camilo expressed his wonder. 
 
 "This is a regular pharmacy!" he said. 
 
 "I should say so! There's everything here; what 
 you'd call everything. And see the order that's 
 kept: here are the caustics; here, tonics; here the 
 antispasmodics; here, the sudorifics; here, the febri- 
 fuges." 
 
 ,,At every name, Cirilo pointed with his index 
 finger to a section of the shelves and to the generic 
 label attached to each section. 
 
 Almost compelled by the native doctor, don 
 Camilo inspected the various labels, reading names 
 and deciphering inscriptions: Narcotics or sedatives; 
 Emmenagogues; Emollients; Tonics or febrifuges; 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 153 
 
 Purgatives or cathartics; Dissolvents, f undents or 
 resolutives; Drastics; Diuretics; Expectorants or 
 pectorals; Sternutatories ..." 
 
 Wearied of this tedious inventory, don Camilo 
 interrupted Cirilo, saying to him with mingled irony 
 and discretion: 
 
 "Friend Matamoros, how is it that with so many 
 emollients, fundents, narcotics and emmenagogues, 
 you haven't made a new woman of Tomasa?" 
 
 "We're coming to that, don Camilo. I can fol- 
 low only the prescribed course. The rest is the 
 work of nature." 
 
 And approaching a corner of the shelves, he added, 
 indicating various objects one after the other: 
 
 "Do you see these pink flowers, this fruit skin and 
 that bark?" 
 
 Without waiting for any reply, Cirilo went on: 
 
 "They are the bark, skin and fruit of the copey. 
 The skin and the bark are marvellously effective 
 against rheumatism. You brew them and apply 
 them in local baths. The first thing I used for 
 Tomasa was the skins. They weren't successful. 
 Then I tried the bark. At the same time I gave 
 her bucare leaves as well as spudge leaves to place 
 against her temples as a cure for her headaches, 
 which bothered her so frequently; and since such 
 headaches may also come from the stomach, I gave 
 her purgatives — sometimes cassia fistula and other 
 times injections of guamacho." 
 
 "But she's certainly not getting better, friend 
 Matamoros." 
 
 "We must give Time time. Medicines don't show 
 their effect in a single day. Tomasa's rheumatism 
 
154 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 isn't a matter of yesterday. Then how do you ex- 
 pect it to be cured in a wink of the eyelash?" 
 
 "I ask only that she be made well. The sooner, 
 the better. Tell me, doesn't there exist any other 
 anti-rheumatic agent than copey — something that 
 Tomasa might try?" 
 
 "I should say there did. The mato root." 
 
 "What root?" 
 ' "Mato root. And something even better." 
 
 Don Camilo was astonished to think if there were 
 any better treatment for rheumatism than mato 
 and copey, Cirilo had not preferred to use it in 
 Tomasa's case. Innocently, he remarked: 
 
 "Of course you don't possess that wonderful rem- 
 edy." 
 
 Cirilo pointed to the same shelf upon which stood 
 the copey and exclaimed, radiantly: 
 
 "This is the wonderful remedy." 
 
 Irurtia opened his clear, sharp eyes avidly. His 
 hands of prey contracted like a falcon's talons, ready 
 to pounce. 
 
 "And what the devil is this?" he asked. 
 
 Cirilo entered into details. 
 
 "This is the fruit of the tree called cereipo, and 
 called also guatemare. Guatemare is not known in 
 the center of the Republic; it's a tree that grows 
 only on the mountains of Caroni, in our Guayana." 
 
 "And you have the fruit here?" 
 
 "I ordered it through the Yuruary Territory. 
 They send it to me from Guacipati through the firm 
 of Blohm. It costs money." 
 
 Irurtia itched to have Cirilo give him at once the 
 cereipo or guatamare from Caroni. 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 155 
 
 Cirilo smiled before the long-shanked Shylock's 
 ignorant presumption and said to him in a doctoral 
 tone: 
 
 "This must be prepared. In its present state it's 
 of no use whatever." 
 
 "Then prepare it." 
 
 Then, thinking that the preparation of the cere- 
 ipo or guatemare might take a long time, and that 
 Cirilo would pitUessly take advantage of it to inflict 
 a lecture upon the entire Venezuelan pharmacoepia, 
 he corrected himself: 
 
 "Although, the deuce, it's too late now." 
 
 And trying to be affable toward Matamoros, he 
 added: 
 
 "It's too late now . . . and it would be better 
 for you not to trouble yourself at present." 
 
 "Oh, it's not the slightest trouble for me," replied 
 Matamoros. "But the preparation is a slow matter. 
 Just remember that I must make a tincture with 
 rum as a base, for Tomasa to take in doses of fifteen 
 to thirty drops. I'U also apply the cereipo as a 
 massage, to procure still better results. You must 
 understand that I favor attacking the diseased 
 organ directly and unwearyingly. That's the way. 
 If an arm hurts, get right after the arm. If 
 it's the stomach — to the stomach, then! You 
 understand." 
 
 "I believe I do." 
 
 Don Camilo was anxious to leave. Knowing al- 
 ready how Tomasa was to be cured, he no longer 
 had any interest in remaining in the grocer's home. 
 But Matamoros, inexorable and scientific as he was, 
 was not going to let slip through his fingers such 
 
156 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 an opportunity to display his learning and his effica- 
 cious plants: 
 
 "Just step closer, don Camilo. Look: this is 
 what's called curta. Drunk as an ififusion and ap- 
 plied as a catapalsm, it cures ss^philis." 
 
 "This," he continued, inexhaustibly, pointing to a 
 packet — "this is taken with brandy, after grinding 
 the leaves; it's onoto: a cure for tabordillo. For 
 jaundice you have these yeUow flowers that are stiU 
 so odorous although they are withered. They, too, 
 come frona Guayana. The tree that produces them 
 is called carnestolendas." 
 
 Irurtia pulled out his watch. Matamoros pre- 
 tended not to see. He placed his hand upon a wide- 
 mouthed bottle that had originally served to con- 
 tain olives and was now filled with a dry plant, and 
 continued his pharmacological explanations in min- 
 ute, conscientious, terrible manner: 
 
 "This plant is borrajon; it is also called, in cer- 
 tain parts of Venezuela, hawk's bill or hen-parrot. 
 It looks like the heliotrope, and abroad they com- 
 monly call it heliotrope of the Indies, or Indie 
 heliotrope. If you add a little salt to the juice of 
 this plant, it cures the mange. The same plant, as 
 an infusion, helps piles ..." 
 
 A woman's voice began to call from a distance. 
 
 "Cirilo! Cirilo!" 
 
 It was Matamoros' wife. He pretended he was 
 deaf, just as a moment before he had made believe 
 blind. Here he was busy with his visitor and yet 
 they inconsiderately interrupted him for some ridic- 
 ulous reason, no doubt. What a bothersome woman ! 
 
 Irurtia, impatient and biting his nails furiously. 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 157 
 
 tried to take advantage of this opportunity to escape 
 from this downpour of practical medicine. 
 
 "Friend Matamoros," he began, "they're calling 
 you. Don't let me take up your time. Answer. 
 Please do me the favor to answer." 
 
 Cirilo assured him that it was merely some non- 
 sense on his wife's part, and without the loss of a 
 moment he continued' his lecture to Irurtia: 
 
 "There are certain plants that produce their effect 
 only when they are fresh. The higuerote, for ex- 
 ample, whose resin or milk, if it's applied when 
 fresh, pulls out a tooth by the root better than any 
 dentist." 
 
 "I know that," said Irurtia, "and at times it takes 
 out even two, . . . against the patient's will." 
 
 Matamoros heard himself being called anew, and 
 anew he pretended not to hear: 
 
 "For certain women's troubles I've used this 
 mato root with great success, as well as fermented 
 carato de maguey or a simple brew of cocuiza, add- 
 ing to it, of course, brusca root. Concerning diure- 
 tics, I have ..." 
 
 Matamoros was unable to go on. They were 
 knocking at the door violently. In high dudgeon he 
 went out to answer. His wife, in an anxious voice, 
 informed him: 
 
 "It's a laborer they've brought; he met with an 
 accident. There he is, at the street door." 
 
 As if by magic, Matamoros' countenance and en- 
 tire aspect changed. His troglodytic face suddenly 
 began to beam with an almost beatific expression, 
 A wounded man; perhaps dying. What luck. 
 
 He ran toward the street door, without paying the 
 
158 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 slightest attention to Irurtia, leaving him stand- 
 ing there in the drug room, without a word of excuse 
 or explanation. 
 
 The wounded victim was a young man, a denizen 
 of Chacao. He was there with his mother. 
 
 No sooner had she caught sight of Matamoros 
 than the old woman whined: 
 
 "He sliced off two of his fingers with a blow from 
 the machete while cutting down corn stalks for his 
 horse's fodder. A terrible thing; see what you can 
 do, Cirilo." 
 
 Matamoros asked the old woman and the sturdy 
 youth to enter. 
 
 He began to undo the bandage — a handkerchief 
 saturated with blood — and the wound came to 
 view: the index finger, struck obliquely and forcibly, 
 had been left pointed, like a pencil. The thumb 
 and the middle finger were also wounded. What a 
 stroke of the machete! 
 
 "Any artery, Cirilo?" asked the mother. 
 
 Cirilo's only reply was to shout: 
 
 "Water ... a sponge ..." 
 
 They fetched a metal basin filled to the brim 
 with water; the sponge lay within, like a floating 
 island. 
 
 Attracted by the tumult, Irurtia entered at the 
 point when Cirilo, surrounded by his wife, a serv- 
 ant, the farm hand's mother, and two or three curiv 
 ous bystanders who had come in, was bathing and 
 probing the wound. Egotistically, he tried to make 
 off in the confusion, alleging some pr^ious appoint- 
 ment as an excuse not to witness the suffering of 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 159 
 
 another : for this conjpelled him to think of his own 
 suffering, and he even imagined that it was his 
 severed veins that were spurting blood. 
 
 "You are very busy, Matamoros. Allow me 
 to . . ." 
 
 Don Camilo's respect for the native healer in- 
 creased by leaps and bounds every second, not to 
 speak of thp contagious effect of the respectful con- 
 fidence with which the rest of the group watched 
 the doctor. On his own part, Cirilo paraded his 
 authority before the bowed heads of the surrounding 
 persons, heads bowed before the beneficent science 
 of the country physician. Wherefore, treating the 
 money-lender as if he were any ordinary person 
 whom he had always respected, he replied: 
 
 "Allow you to go? No, sir, don Camilo: I allow 
 you, nothing. I'll take you down to the station. 
 This is merely the matter of a moment. Do you see 
 this bleeding giant chap? Well, you'll see him well 
 in a second." 
 
 The woimded fellow didn't move an eyelid. His 
 mother, who was eager to give all the details of the 
 accident, finally grew silent. 
 
 Matamoros gave an order to his wife: 
 
 "See here: bring me that little flask containing 
 the tincture of aporo; you know where it is." 
 
 As soon as the little flask was brought, the 
 curandero, zealous and happy, let fall several drops 
 upon the injured members. 
 
 The blood continued to flow. 
 
 After a minute of two in which the blood gave 
 nd indications of stopping, despite the aporo balsam, 
 Cirilo Matamoros w'ent in person to his drug room. 
 
160 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Thence he returned, a moment afterward, with 
 his mortar in his hands. 
 
 At the bottom of the mortar were heaped some 
 rare leaves, purple above and shining below. They 
 looked almost fresh. He began to pound them ber 
 fore the gaping mouths of the confident gathering, 
 repeating to the laborer, whose left hand still dripped 
 blood : 
 
 "You'll see; we'll stanch that flow in a moment." 
 
 "And wiU he be left without the use of that 
 hand?" the mother ventured to ask. 
 
 Cirilo shrugged his shoulders undecidedly, and 
 was unwilling to compromise himself by a reply. 
 
 The bystanders watched the cure in silence. 
 
 Matamoros continued to pound away. Soon, 
 without ceasing to pound, he said to his wife: 
 
 "Woman, fetch me some hnt." 
 
 But something must have occurred to him, for 
 he added: 
 
 "Don't bring it here, bring it to the medicine 
 room." 
 
 And ordering his patient to be raised he went 
 with him to the room that was stocked with his 
 pharmaceutical plants. He asked Irurtia to come 
 along; but only Irurtia. The old man,- though much 
 against his will, obeyed, for there was no loophole 
 for escape. 
 
 The rest of the bystanders, whose curiosity had 
 been disappointed, envied him this honor. 
 
 They began to indulge in commentaries. 
 
 Why had Matamoros resolved to leave with the 
 wounded man and not perform his cure right there, 
 in everybody's presence, just as he had begun to do? 
 
FARM HAND'S ACCIDENT 161 
 
 Was it because he did not wish the mother to witness 
 the operation? Had he been offended by sonae 
 piece of impertinence? Nobody had said a word. 
 Nevertheless, Matamoros had seemed to have been 
 seized with a sudden anger. Although who could 
 say what to expect from a fellow like Matamoros? 
 When he seemed most sullen he was in reality in 
 the best of humor. 
 
 The truth is that Cirilo, as he had left, looked like 
 a veritable demon: his eyes were fairly concealed 
 behind his bushy eyebrows, and his hair stuck up 
 aggressively above a face as fierce as that of an 
 Algerian pirate. 
 
 A few minutes passed. 
 
 At last the husky laborer appeared with his arm 
 in a sling; behind the herculean chap came Mata- 
 moros and don Camilo. 
 
 Irurtia, sincerely impressed with Cirilo's art, 
 wished to know the name of the plant with which 
 he had realized the cure. 
 
 "It's called suelda-con-suelda," the healer in- 
 formed him. 
 
 Irurtia left filled with |ihe conviction of Mata- 
 moros' competence in pharmacological, therapeu- 
 tic and clinical matters. 
 
 When it was already quite late and the sun shone 
 down as hot as the very devil, don Camilo arrived 
 hungry and sweating at his home, and launched at 
 once into a complete tale of what had happened, re- 
 lating to the old rheumatic woman in words of high 
 admiration how Cirilo had stanched the hemor- 
 rhage ; and he went into ecstasies of praise concern- 
 ing Matamoros' stock of drugs. 
 
162 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Tomorrow, or the day after," he concluded in 
 tones of assurance, "Cirilo Matamoros will bring 
 health to you in a little flask of tincture. It's a 
 marvelous plant that comes from Guayana and 
 costs a fortune. This time I haven't the shadow 
 of a doubt. Matamoros wiU restore you to health." 
 
 Tomasa shook her head skeptically. She even 
 permitted herself a few words of doubt; but as 
 Irurtia insisted, and as she had spent her life in 
 believing in Irurtia, in obeying him and admiring 
 him, the withered old woman was silent and even 
 felt hopes of a cure revive in the recesses of her soul. 
 Matamoros could cure her. Why not? God is so 
 goodl 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE OF THE CHILEAN 
 LEGATION KNOWS 
 
 IRURTIA and Rosaura are chatting in the 
 Agualonga salon. Olga Emmerich remains in 
 watchful silence at the window. In the corridor 
 Eufemia and Alcira are sewing. The door that com- 
 municates with the corridor is wide open and there 
 enters the murmur of the sisters' conversation. From 
 a copper-wire cage that hangs from a transom be- 
 tween two piUars, not far from Alcira and Eufemia, 
 comes the chirping of a canary bird. It is five in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 The money-lender is furious. Within forty-eight 
 hours the Santa Teresa house will be vacated and 
 ready for the Agualongas, who are to move in; 
 forty-eight hours more, at least, will be required for 
 the final coats of paint to dry. "In short," repeats 
 Irurtia, "four days, and the removal is not yet ar- 
 ranged for." 
 
 And not only was the removal of the Agualongas 
 to the new place as yet not arranged for; not even 
 the date of Olga's wedding had been set — a cere- 
 mony which, according to the wishes of the Agua- 
 longas, must be celebrated in the old family mansion, 
 before abandoning it forever. 
 
 Irurtia, in a talkative mood, complained to Rosaura 
 at this tortoise pace. 
 
 163 
 
164 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Such hurry at the beginning, and see now. With 
 the matter already settled you postpone it out of 
 sheer neglect, indolence, for no reason at all." 
 
 "Everything in due season, don Camilo. What 
 difference does it make to you," answered Rosaura, 
 "whether we move one day sooner or later; whether 
 Olga marries today or tomorrow?" 
 
 Irurtia cannot understand why Rosaura should 
 not understand. 
 
 "What difference does it make to me! But 
 doesn't it occur to you that certain interests are at 
 stake — my interests?" 
 
 "Your interests?" 
 
 "I should say so. We've concluded a bargain — 
 you and I — haven't we? Well, this piece of busi- 
 ness has caused me expense — great expense — so 
 that I might give you a decent house." 
 
 And lowering his voice, the miser adds: 
 
 "God knows that it was for your sake that I con- 
 sented to it all." 
 
 Rosaura permits no such words to be addressed 
 her. 
 
 "That's nonsense, seiior Irurtia. I really believe 
 you're trying to provoke me, and you're succeeding 
 very easily. If you agreed to the exchange it was 
 because it profited you, and not for my sake. I was 
 an utter stranger to you. Besides, I wouldn't have 
 accepted then, nor would I accept now, any sort of 
 favor other than that of the mere courtesy which 
 any gentleman could show to any lady." 
 
 Realizing that he has put his foot into it, Irurtia 
 breaks forth into more or less clever excuses. Any- 
 body who could see deep into his heart would dis- 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 165 
 
 cover there sentiments of respfect and admiration, 
 of sympathy. . . . The Agualongas . . . espe- 
 cially Rosaura. ... In short, he could feel far bet- 
 ter than he could speak. 
 
 "Indeed. Just like a schoolboy." 
 
 "Don't poke fun at me." 
 
 "I'm not poking fun ! But your urging us to move 
 into the new place at once, and your invoking your 
 interests, deserves as much." 
 
 "Not so. If you don't move soon, you place me 
 in a difficult position, for I can neither rent nor 
 sell the Santa Teresa house, in which I've invested 
 a considerable sum, more than I would have done in 
 case other persons than you were concerned in the 
 proposition. That money, then, will yield not a 
 centimo, paralyzed as it must be for days and days." 
 
 Don Camilo purposely embroiled the matter. He 
 was anxious to have the old manor of the Agualongas 
 as soon as. possible. And he finished by declaring 
 to Rosaura: 
 
 "As to this house that is to belong to me from 
 the day you vacate it — neither can I dispose of it 
 while you stiU occupy it. Now you can see whether 
 the delay in your removal is doing me harm." 
 
 Rosaura placed little credence in Irurtia's tale of 
 the harm being done him, nor did she give much 
 heed to his explanation; but in order to avoid a 
 new series of vexing details, she permitted herself 
 to be carried off by that very feminine character- 
 istic of skirting difficulties instead of boldly meeting 
 them and settling them, exclaiming: 
 
 "You'll havd a little patience, seiior Irurtia, for 
 you're a kind person." 
 
166 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Very well. But kindness doesn't mean wasting 
 time and losing money, or missing opportunities to 
 make it — which amounts to the same thing — with 
 no advantage to me, to you, or to anybody else. A 
 man who'd do a thing like that is neither good nor 
 bad; he's incapable." 
 
 When, a little later, Irurtia left, between six and 
 half-past, Rosaura and Olga went out to the cor- 
 ridor, where Alcira and Eufemia were still convers- 
 ing, watching the gathering shadows fall upon the 
 trees in the patio. 
 
 The niece then went off to her rooms. Rosaura, 
 Alcira and Eufemia began to discuss Irurtia's atti- 
 tude, his pressure upon them to move, and the 
 reasons for his insistence. 
 
 They called Olga: 
 
 "Olga, come here; listen to something that inter- 
 ests you." 
 
 When Olga suspected what they were about to 
 discuss, she tried to escape, replying with a jest: 
 
 "Ugh! Family council? I'm superfluous, in that 
 case. I approve everything you say in advance. 
 De Anti-mano. In advance."" 
 
 Antimano is the name of a little place near Cara- 
 cas. The play on words was not only puerile, but 
 utterly silly. Nevertheless the sisters received it 
 with applause. That Olga was certainly witty! 
 But they would not let her escape; and Olga, with- 
 out paying any attention to the matter that was 
 so worrying her three mothers, replied in a biir- 
 lesque manner: 
 
 "What do you want? To hold a conference? 
 
 IS A pun on de antemano, i.e., beforehand. 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 167 
 
 Let's confer, then ... in the dark, if you like, 
 although I'd prefer to have this corridor-lamp 
 lighted." 
 
 Then she added: 
 
 "We're not in don Camilo's home, nor do we wish 
 to imitate the tenebrae of Holy Week. That's what 
 / thmk." 
 
 They gratified her desire. In order to lose no 
 time by calling the simpleton daughter of the cook, 
 Alcira, climbing into a chair, pulled toward her the 
 bronze lamp that hung from the ceiling. By a sort 
 of pulley mechanism the lamp was lowered. After 
 being lighted, it returned to its customary posi- 
 tion, thanks to a slight push from Alcira. 
 
 Still standing on the chair, Alcira exclaimed: 
 
 "Fiat lux! and there was light." 
 
 In the family not only did Olga create light with 
 a word, even as the God of Genesis, but her will was 
 law, even superior to the authority of Eufemia. 
 But despite all her influence and all her wUes, 
 she had been caught in a trap and could not 
 evade that interview which she desired so much 
 to escape. 
 
 After having urged the barter of the house more 
 than anybody else, and with the absolute support of 
 Eufemia, whose attachment to the ancient mansion 
 inclined her to defer the removal to the new house 
 as long as possible, Olga had suddenly, at the last 
 moment, and without any apparent motive, begun 
 to assure them that there wasn't any particular 
 hurry. 
 
 "Since I must marry before we vacate this place, 
 and since Andres and I haven't yet agreed upon a 
 
168 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 date for the wedding, why break our heads thinking 
 of the removal?" 
 
 When the sisters urged her to take up the matter 
 of the wedding with Andres Rata, she pretended that 
 Andres Rata still lacked the household goods. The 
 cabinetmakers' place where they were being made 
 had not fulfilled the promise to have them ready at 
 the time when they would be needed. This piece of 
 furniture and that were still lacking. 
 
 What a bare-faced falsehood! Poor Rata had 
 given no orders for furniture at all ; he was buying 
 up separate pieces here and there as he was able: 
 one day the bedroom suite, another day the dining- 
 room, a third day, the living-room. 
 
 How distinct from her story was the real reason! 
 The truth was that Olga Emmerich had, a few nights 
 previous, met the attache of the Chilean Legation at 
 a ball — he was a fine, handsome chap from San- 
 tiago, and had recently arrived at Caracas — and 
 from the first moment she had begun a flirtation 
 with him. 
 
 One flirtation more or less in Olga's existence, 
 even at the very doors of Hymen, where she had 
 already grasped the symbolic torch, or done what 
 amounted almost to the same thing, surprised no- 
 body. It was the most natural thing in the world. 
 Caracas knew this, and smiled. 
 
 The young Chilean fell in love with this blonde, 
 lithe woman, with her resilient breasts, her elastic 
 muscles, her lips that thirsted for other lips, her 
 alluring throat and arms, her proud head, her blue 
 eyes, now gleaming fiercely, now submissive . . . 
 And this woman with body and soul gluttonous for 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 169 
 
 pleasure — who dreamed ever of adventures across 
 the seas with men distinct itom the men of Caracas 
 that she was always encountering, and all of whom 
 she knew by heart; this wilful, sensual woman, ego- 
 tistic to the very marrow ; this woman utterly lack- 
 ing in scruples, fell in love with the youth from 
 Santiago, who, besides being a handsome young 
 man, held her in the spell of the distant, the un- 
 known, the romantic. 
 
 It was a galloping flirtation. Within ten or 
 twelve days they met twenty times. And each time 
 they met, now in one parlor, now in another, and 
 most often at the home of that great intermediary 
 Chicharra, they held intimate and unending con- 
 verse. At the latest ball of the Chilean Legation, a 
 garden-party, this lovers' chat became also a soli- 
 tary promenade under the old trees and amid the 
 most shaded unfrequented spots of a magnificent 
 garden. 
 
 "This is my farewell to my bachelor days," she 
 said cunningly, as if in self -excuse. 
 
 And she was able to permit herself this farewell 
 flirtation, commenced upon the very eve of her mar- 
 riage, because Andres Rata, her sweetheart, belong- 
 ing as he did by his not only obscure, but tenebrous 
 origin, to one of the lowest strata of society, and 
 having ascended only by means of politics, dwelt 
 far from salons, and visited nobody with the excep- 
 tion of some unscrupulous cheap politician like 
 Aquiles Chicharra> 
 
 The young Chilean pretended not to believe that 
 Olga would marry Andres Rata. She, so pretty, 
 such a blonde, marry that ugly brute with such a 
 
170 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 black body and black soul; such a misalliance 
 would never happen in Chile. 
 
 The love affair and future union of Andres Rata 
 and Olga had a reason. 
 
 That daughter of a German, educated in a Ger- 
 man school, inhaling in deep breaths the spiritual 
 atmosphere of the overturned democratic society 
 into which she had been born, had neither the senti- 
 ments, nor the ideas, nor the tastes of her three 
 mothers — proud women, home lovers, pious, al- 
 most monastic, filled with ideas and sentiments that 
 they were too weak to inculcate into the half-Ger- 
 man maiden. 
 
 The influence of these mothers was nullified by 
 their excess of love for their niece. They patterned 
 themselves after Olga instead of Olga shaping her- 
 self after them. These three mothers were three 
 ardent theological virtues confronting an iceberg — 
 three abnegations before an egotism — three weak- 
 nesses before a single strength. 
 
 For this reason the Agualongas, who had always 
 believed themselves the flower and the cream of 
 society — women who even in the midst of poverty 
 had never bowed their ingenuous pride before any- 
 body or anything, and whose circle of relations. was 
 ancient, hereditary — were broadening their ideas, 
 or, to put it more exactly and justly, were sacrific- 
 ing their ideas for love of the girl. For this reason 
 so many of Olga's schoolmates and their brothers 
 had become regular visitors. And for this reason, 
 too, Olga, with Tier hunger for pleasure and the 
 necessity of consuming her excess of animal spirits, 
 attended all society affairs. For this reason Olga, 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 171 
 
 ever since her fourteenth year, had been surrounded 
 by swarms of lovers. For this reason Olga kissed 
 her suitors behind the doors. For this reason Olga, 
 escaping the surveillance of Rosaura, had become 
 used to going out by herself, with girl friends who 
 called for her or whom she went to call on in their 
 homes. For this reason Olga was once surprised 
 in the arms of a married man. For this reason Olga, 
 convinced that no young man of Caracas who had 
 the slightest respect for himself would venture to 
 marry her, especially since she lacked a fortune, had 
 accepted the hand of the servile, ambitious mulatto. 
 For this reason her aunts wept copiously, ever so 
 copiously, for nights at a time, before giving their 
 consent. For this reason they consented to such 
 a one-sided, uneven, absurd match. 
 
 The three mothers were by no means hopelessly 
 eilly, though their affection had converted them into 
 their niece's puppets. They were by no means silly ; 
 they were far different from the half-German. 
 Babel-like mentalities, they dwelt in intimacy with- 
 out understanding each other. In reality the 
 Agualongas hardly understood Olga: they could 
 skirt the periphery of her character, and nothing 
 more. Partly to exculpate the moody, capricious 
 maiden, and partly in stupid admiration, the blind 
 women would murmur, consentingly: "Olga is so 
 original." Caracas spoke otherwise, with less eu- 
 phemistic flattery. 
 
 Caracas had from the very first, with more per- 
 spicuity and justice than the three celibate mother^, 
 seen the eagerness for attracting men that characr 
 terized this maiden of the snow-white, golden youth: 
 
172 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 the excessive liberties lusted for by this blonde little 
 beast who impatiently broke all restraining fetters; 
 her glacial egotism, her leaning toward intrigue, and 
 the morbid daydreaming of that creature who was. 
 so much more attractive outside than within. 
 
 In the fields of Venezuela, as soon as the golden 
 grain begins to ripen, and even before, the parra- 
 keets begin to swoop down in clouds upon the maize 
 fields. The mouths of these garrulous, gluttonous 
 little parrots is the first granary of the harvests. 
 A popular refrain recalls this: "The first com is for 
 the parrakeets." Thus it was with Olga's suitors. 
 Clouds of youths besieged the ripeness of her four- 
 teen Aprils. The three mothers at first took the 
 matter as a joke, looking laughingly upon the little 
 hoyden and her court. Later, before the avalanche 
 of rapidly following beardless suitors, they began to 
 grumble: 
 
 "This can't go on," protested Eufemia. 
 
 Alcira and Rosaura chimed in: 
 
 "This can't go on." 
 
 "But they all do the same," was the reply they 
 received from certain women of more liberal outlook. 
 
 Through fear of losing the affection of the wilful 
 child by opposing her desires, the three mothers 
 yielded, because "they all do the same." 
 
 Time went by. There came balls, and with the 
 balls, new claimants, this time with mustache. 
 
 Then the Agualongas imagined that such fleeting 
 love affairs of the window and the dance hall con- 
 stituted merely an inoffensive sentirnental amuse- 
 ment, a newly minted coin, a method of passing time 
 without being bored. 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 173 
 
 Later on they became accustomed to it. 
 
 They were undeceived by Olga's betrothal to 
 Andres Rata. The news was as bitter as drinking 
 hemlock, and they passed many a desperate mo- 
 ment. They rebelled with that soft bleating of the 
 lamb who is being slaughtered. . . . All in vaiii; 
 by the combined efforts of Olga and the scoundrelly 
 Chicharra, Andres Rata was imposed upon them. 
 The three mothers could only weep and accept. 
 
 The wedding decided upon, they prepared to sacri- 
 fice everything they owned in order to provide hand- 
 somely for their niece. 
 
 They possessed but little; but the little they had 
 was aU f or Olga. The suitor, who was now Olga's 
 accespted fiance, was so poor! What wouldn't the 
 young couple need! And the three old maids even 
 thought of laying something aside for a rainy day — 
 not for themselves, but for the young couple. The 
 mothers needed very little. Olga would take with 
 her Rosaura's solid gold medallions, Alcira's old 
 emeralds, Eufemia's cameos, as well as the Cubagua 
 pearls, an heirloom that had been transmitted from 
 generation to generation — in fact, all the old 
 family jewels. And since all this possessed rather 
 a sentimental than a cash or intrinsic value — since 
 even the pearls deteriorated and died — it was 
 agreed to sell the family mansion or exchange it for 
 some smaller house with the object of receiving a 
 respectable sum as compensation. In such a way 
 Olga would be married off decently and they could 
 give her in cash whatever was left after all expenses 
 were paid; this could serve as a nest egg. Andres 
 Rata was so poor that Eufemia, referring to his desti- 
 
174 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 tute, beggarly condition, would say, behind Olga's 
 back, "He is really, not a Rata," but a rat," 
 
 The sacrifice of abandoning the old home, both as 
 a dwelling and as a piece of property, was the great- 
 est that could have been inflicted upon the Agua- 
 longas. 
 
 All their family reminiscences were part and 
 parcel of those walls, which had been reared by their 
 ancestors at the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
 The youth of the three women had been lived be- 
 tween those walls. Between those walls had dwelt 
 their^parents, their grandparents, their great-grand- 
 parents. Every nook evoked memories of such and 
 such a personage of the family, remembrances 
 handed down by pious tradition from child to child. 
 "In that room So-and-so was born, in that other one. 
 Such-and-such died. That tree was planted by 
 this-and-that member of the family." 
 
 It was Eufemia chiefly who gave herself up to 
 such evocations. She never left the house and spent 
 her time sauntering through the corridors, which 
 were as spacious as cloisters, or browsing in the 
 garden — pale, sickly, with her flat nose, her ashen- 
 hued hair and her suffering eyes — or flitting about 
 from one to the other of the rooms whither the 
 others never went. 
 
 She was, indeed, the living, eloquent soul of the 
 ancient dwelling. To part with the venerable and 
 beloved mansion caused Eufemia a hundred times 
 greater grief than it did Alcira and Rosaura. 
 Eufemia's sacrifice, then, was so much greater than 
 that of her sisters. For this reason Eufemia, al- 
 
 1* The literal meaning of rata is rat. 
 
WHAT THE ATTACHE KNOWS 175 
 
 though she had proposed getting nd of the house 
 for their niece's sake, kept postponing, with every 
 wile and pretext she could summon, the date of the 
 removal to Irurtia's house. But, as she herself put 
 it, she had already "really made up her mind." 
 Now she, too, urged prompt action. Let the poor 
 little angel marry soon and be happy. 
 
 "I can't live very much longer," she would add. 
 "An old invalid can die in any old place at all." 
 
 And less than anybody could Eufemia make out 
 why Olga, on the very eve of her wedding, should 
 not have the date set and should never mention the 
 removal. 
 
 When, that afternoon, Rosaura spoke of Irurtia's 
 insistence, the niece became angry and protested: 
 
 "What business has that ridiculous old fellow mix- 
 ing into our intimate affairs? Let the hairy old 
 lizard rather hasten to move out of his own lair." 
 
 "That's just what I asked him: who authorized 
 hun to meddle in our personal matters," explained 
 Rosaura. "But he insisted. It seems that if he 
 doesn't take possession of our house until the Santa 
 Teresa one is ready, his interests will be jeopard- 
 ized." 
 
 "Well, let his interests be jeopardized. What do^ 
 I care about that crafty old miser!" burst out MUe. 
 Emmerich. 
 
 And after a sardonic pause, she repeated: 
 
 "Let him rather hasten to move out of his own 
 lair." 
 
 Olga's erect, blond head rested firmly upon her 
 shoulders in a characteristic attitude of defiance; 
 her brows were knitted and her large blue eyes shot 
 sparks. 
 
176 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The three mothers, on their side, wished to know 
 definitely whether any date for the wedding could 
 be set. 
 
 "I've said a hundred times, " retorted Olga, in the 
 worst of humor — "I've repeated a hundred times 
 that Andres still lacks the chief pieces of furniture, 
 and that we must wait." 
 
 Then Eufemia, pale and with sunken eyes, turned 
 to Olga and said: 
 
 "Let us wait, then. But I vow that I can't under- 
 stand this tangle at all. A month ago you assured 
 me that your household outfit was complete — that 
 not even a chair was lacking. I can't begin to un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "You don't understand, aunt," replied Olga, "be- 
 cause you understand only eighteenth-century mat- 
 ters." 
 
 Irurtia was puzzled by the delay. Eufemia said 
 that she could not begin to understand it. Neither 
 Alcira nor Rosaura felt equal to explaining this 
 equivocal attitude of Olga. Not even Chicharra, 
 despite his pretensions as a politicaster, not even the 
 emasculated Andres Rata, despite his daily chats 
 with Olga, could have clarified the mystery. 
 
 In order to solve this riddle it would have 
 been necessary to consult that attache of the Chilean 
 Legation. 
 
VI 
 
 THE PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 
 
 AQUILES CHICHARRA had been left without 
 a government position. For two months al- 
 ready he had been agitating, visiting, intriguing and 
 offering his services to the President, to the various 
 ministers. . . . All in vain! 
 
 Four fortnights gone by without Chicharra re- 
 ceiving a solitary centimo from the National Treas- 
 ury! It seemed impossible! The first one to be 
 astounded was he himself; and his budgetivorous" 
 mentality judged that the government was failing 
 him. This could not be. 
 
 Since his visits, his dancing attendance in the 
 antechambers and his epistles burning with declara- 
 tions of loyalty were equally useless, as were his 
 offers of service and his outspoken, impressive peti- 
 tions for any modest post whatsoever, "proportion- 
 ate, of course, as far as possible, to the importance 
 of such constant and long-standing services iri the 
 cause of the Liberal party," as Chicharra himself 
 phrased it, Chicharra saw that he must resort to a 
 coup. 
 
 What was Chicharra's coup to be? He knew by 
 heart the thousand and one tricks that employo- 
 
 1' An obvious coining of the author's, referring to a type of 
 patriot not yet extinct in these United States, either; "feeding 
 upon the national treasury." 
 
 177 
 
178 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 maniacs always used, when, having gone off at a. 
 tangent and feeling themselves, by apcident, left out 
 of the Budget, they aspired to re-enter it. 
 
 He thought of organizing a powerful unification 
 of the Great Liberal Party, and imposing it upon the 
 government. When he communicated these notions 
 to the other members of the party, they laughed 
 right into his rubicund nostrils. The Liberals, who 
 were more unified than ever, were running the coun- 
 try. Did Aquiles Chicharra imagine, because he 
 was out of a public position, that therefore the 
 Liberal Party had no voice in the, government? 
 
 "There's many a Goth" holding public oflSce," 
 argued the famous Chicharra. 
 
 "Well, simply because there's many a Goth hold- 
 ing public office doesn't signify that liberal institu- 
 tions have disappeared from the republic," they re- 
 torted. 
 
 They told him, moreover, that in order to work in 
 the name of a party, it was necessary to labor with 
 the acquiescence of that party, as a head or delegate 
 of such and such a group. 
 
 Chicharra was provoked: 
 
 "I don't believe myself chief of the Liberals," he 
 said, "although I don't lack the qualifications for the 
 position." 
 
 Poor Chicharra, being as vain as he was, could not 
 realize that he was never taken seriously and that 
 he hardly served as a tool for the others; but this 
 time it dawned upon him that the road he had set 
 out upon would bring him to no public position. 
 
 Then he hatched up another scheme. He no 
 
 1* le., conservative (Godo). 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 179 
 
 longer desired to unite the Great Liberal Party into 
 a block that would impose itself upon the govern- 
 ment ; he planned to have all the Liberals of Caracas 
 who were out of a position at the time sign a pro- 
 testation of allegiance to the President. 
 
 After talking the matter over with them, Chi- 
 charra called them together at his home one after- 
 noon. 
 
 All attended; and all, without a single voice of 
 dissent, were in full accord. But a difficulty arose. 
 At just what juncture should they make public this 
 protestation of loyalty so that it should yield the 
 best fruit? 
 
 "Any occasion at all," shouted Chicharra to the 
 questioners. "The opportunity may be sought and 
 found." 
 
 One of the adherents — an old feUow, caustic, 
 satiric, and even more than these, loose-tongued and 
 a wag — pretended naivete, and asked: 
 
 "And what is the reason for this manifesto? The 
 fact that we've been left without jobs?" 
 
 Chicharra waxed furious. Politics was no laugh- 
 ing matter. 
 
 "Do you imagine that merchants take business as 
 a laughing matter, and that industrial men take 
 industry as a joke? Our industry, our business, is 
 politics. We can't convert it into a mere butt for 
 jests. Where would we be then? Where could we 
 go?" 
 
 The rest agreed. 
 
 "Really? Where could we go?" 
 
 "Why, we'd go somewhere or other, even to 
 work ..." insinuated the jester. 
 
180 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Another old fellow, grave, circumspect, asinine, a 
 comrade and admirer of Chicharra, spoke up in order 
 to blunt the sallies of the wag: 
 
 "Enough jesting for the present and let's get busy 
 drawing Up the document that we are to sign. 
 
 Whereupon Chicharra, in very dignified manner, 
 and perhaps by previous arrangement with his 
 friend, unbuttoned his frock-coat and extracting 
 from the inside pocket a thick roll of manuscript, 
 began to explain : 
 
 "I have taken the liberty of writing out this here 
 . . . so as not to lose time or have to fall back 
 upon improvisations." 
 
 Straightening out the roll, he added: 
 
 "This is a very well-considered document. Per- 
 haps you would care to hear it, so that you may 
 introduce certain corrections, if you think it neces- 
 sary. . . . Although, frankly speaking, I don't 
 think they'll be needed. I am so experienced in 
 politics! Remember that I've been everything in 
 Venezuela — everything except Archbishop and 
 President." 
 
 They urged him to read. 
 
 Everything was ready beforehand. Chicharra 
 stood at the door of the salon and at a mere sign a 
 maidservant appeared as if through a trap-door, 
 carrying a chair with a wooden seat: the kitchen 
 chair. Chicharra tried to mount the chair, but was 
 unable. 
 
 The wag of the party whispered into his neigh- 
 bor's ear: 
 
 "Perhaps Aquiles is more accustomed to flirt with 
 the maidservant than mount the chair. That's why 
 he can't get on to it now." 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 181 
 
 He tried once more to climb; but he was afraid. 
 The seat was too narrow and Chicharra — a huge 
 belly upon two stubby legs — was altogether too 
 wide in the paunch. He resolved to remain stand- 
 ing behind the chair, leaning upon the back so that 
 the piece of furniture would suggest a tribune. He 
 cleared his throat, glanced benevolently at his audi- 
 ence, pulled his crimson, carbuncle-like nose, shook 
 his spherical abdomen, and wiping his lips with a 
 handkerchief, began to read in a loud voice: 
 
 to the president of the republic, chief, 
 center and director of the liberal 
 party: 
 These are solemn days. We live in a his- 
 toric moment. History contemplates us 
 and Providence, like a loving mother guard- 
 ing her children, watches over the land that 
 gave us birth and over the Liberal Party 
 that gave us civic guarantees and public 
 liberties — pariahs that we were under the 
 iron yoke of the impenitent conservatives 
 whom the people, in its wisdom, calls re- 
 calcitrant Goths. 
 
 As Chicharra reached this part, his grave erony 
 and admirer burst fortti into stentorian applause: 
 
 "Very good! Very good! There's a man that 
 calls a spade a spade!" 
 
 Chicharra turned his eyes gratefully in the direc- 
 tion whence the applause had come, and, conscious 
 of his own worth as well as tha;t of his work, said: 
 
 "You will see: this is a very well-considered docu- 
 ment — very serious and of prime importance." 
 
182 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The nose of acorn, or the acorn of the nose, be- 
 coming congested with satisfaction, had in a second 
 turned from coral pallor to scarlet. 
 
 Aquiles continued his reading, waving his arms 
 as he did so and imparting appropriate tones of 
 voice: 
 
 In past centuries, when man was igno- 
 rant of his rights, the monarchs ever im- 
 posed upon the serf of the glebe a ferocious, 
 terrifying, bloody despotism, as lugubrious 
 as the endless night of suffering in which 
 were shed the tears of men, women, the 
 aged and even the tender young. Nebu- 
 chadnezzar, Nero, Tubalcain, Philip II, 
 Louis XIV and Ferdinand VII are ex- 
 amples that will not belie me, if proof were 
 needed. Then came the Middle Ages with 
 their horrors and darkness, in which hu- 
 manity was rescued from complete anni- 
 hilation only by the doctrines of Christ 
 Crucified and the Cross that opened its 
 arms like a celestial bird, above the abysses 
 of blood, injustice and tears. Then came 
 the French Revolution, which was the 
 Tabor and the Sinai of the Rights of Man 
 in society, and the monarchs — even the 
 most innocent of them ^perished on the 
 scaffolds, and the guillotine severed the 
 heads of the just and the sinners, until 
 there glowed the dawn of modern liberties, 
 of Right, of Civilization and of human 
 Fraternity. 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 183 
 
 Aquiles had reached this section of his speech, 
 and was already excited and perspiring with his 
 multiple historical evocations and his vast journey 
 through the centuries, when one of the audience 
 interrupted him: 
 
 "I don't see where all this fits in. Let those 
 Greeks and Romans alone; forget the Middle Ages 
 and the French Revolution, and let's get down to 
 the present politics of our Republic." 
 
 "And especially our personal situation," inserted 
 a certain carnivorous philosopher whose only con- 
 cern was that of the belly. 
 
 Chicharra dissented from both opinions. 
 
 It was impossible to speak of each person's par- 
 ticular position. As fpr the historical citations, they 
 were very much to the point in any public docu- 
 ment, ani would embelUsh it. In the present 
 instance, they would impress the President, which 
 was the main purpose of the paper. 
 
 "Moreover," he added, "I haven't been indulging 
 in empty quotations. From the ancients I passed 
 to the Middle Ages, from the Middle Ages to the 
 French Revolution, the cradle of human rights. 
 From that I'll proceed to the independence of our 
 country, in order to depict the obscurantism that 
 followed upon the first years of our emancipation, so 
 that the Gotl\s, conquered in every other part of 
 the world, may be exposed attempting to appro- 
 priate our country as if it were a feudal possession, 
 until in 1848 Jose Tadeo Monagas, in 1846 Juan 
 Crisostomo Falcon and finally. General Guzman 
 Blanco in 1870, forever rout the conservatives and 
 mark the definite triumph of the Liberal Party in 
 
184 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Venezuela, which has since been governed by that 
 party." 
 
 A staunch Liberal, who insisted upon exactitude, 
 raised an objection: 
 
 "It would be more prudent to begin the history of 
 ideas with Jose Tadeo Monagas." 
 
 The fellow who previously had been jesting now 
 interjected: 
 
 "The document should state clearly that we 
 brought about alternative government in Venezuela 
 and that for this reason we've been governing the 
 Republic since 1870." 
 
 Aquiles shrugged his shoulders, and his nose 
 turned as red as a pepper. Good humor cast 
 Chicharra into ill humor; a jest transformed him 
 into a Fury.' Solemnity is the elegance of a states- 
 man. 
 
 Hereupon the philosopher of the stomach, al- 
 most in anguish, put in a word, seeing that every- 
 body else was going astray: 
 
 "But look here ! How about us poor Liberals who 
 are left without a job? Where do we get ofiE? 
 Don't forget that when a fellow's famished, a bad 
 beefsteak- is worth more than ten ranches of cattle. 
 Come to our aid!" 
 
 "I'll reply to every objection worthy of an an- 
 swer," declared Chicharra, grave, important, reso- 
 lute, and scorning the words of the jovial fellow as 
 if the lowly thought of a position were furthest 
 from his mind. 
 
 All began to speak at once. A demoniac clamor 
 prevented Aquiles' promise from being heard. Then 
 Chicharra, nervous and with a gesture of heroic reso- 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 185 
 
 lution, climbed up on that sort of kitchen tabouret 
 with a back, in order better to dominate the unruly 
 audience. He continued: 
 
 "The history of ideas cannot begin with Jose 
 Tadeo Monagas. Never have I seen in any author, 
 ancient or modern, Venezuelan or foreign, anything 
 of the sort. What I have always seen is the pro- 
 cedure that I follow: Greece, Rome, Middle Ages, 
 French Revolution, Independence of Venezuela, 
 Goths and Liberals." 
 
 "Very well. And present-day politics? And 
 what about us?" 
 
 "I repeat that I will answer all objections in 
 defense of this document, which, even if it be mine, 
 should not on that account be denied importance. 
 Pay close attention, now. Get the kernel of my 
 thought: from Guzman Blanco, who imposes 
 Liberal ideas, procedure and men, I reach, in rapid 
 review of all our administrations, our present Presi- 
 dent. I depict the latter-day situation in very bright 
 colors. We, countless Liberals, separated from the 
 Administration; in the meantime, countless Goths 
 battening on the government. It's the knell of all 
 reaction. The President of the Republic should 
 surround himself with us, who are disposed to second 
 his efforts; he should, with our aid, rescue the treas- 
 ure of liberal doctrines." 
 
 Without allowing any time for fresh commentary 
 and new interruptions, he said : 
 
 "Listen to the conclusion." 
 
 And he began to read hurriedly, almost without 
 a pause for breath: 
 
186 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 We repeat that the moment is solemn. 
 Ultramontane obscurantism unfolds its hor- 
 rible wings. Behold: the Goths swoop 
 down upon the Treasury, occupy public 
 positions, and from official heights, pre- 
 tend — the madmen! — to stifle the noble 
 sentiments of our beloved President, 
 and to asphyxiate the liberal politics of 
 so magnanimous, heroic, modest, civiliz- 
 ing and incomparable an Executive. They 
 threaten to put an end to all the liberal 
 conquests of which Venezuela is so justly 
 proud: freedom of the press, freedom of 
 industry, freedom of worship, abolition of 
 the death penalty, gold standard, free and 
 compulsory public education — which is 
 not lay education in order not to offend the 
 piety of our mothers, daughters and wives 
 — and the other liberal conquests such as 
 divorce and the security of our hearths, 
 which we do not mention because they are 
 so well known in the country that enjoys 
 them. 
 
 Chicharra's admirer, who had already applauded 
 him vociferously at the beginning of the speech, ap- 
 plauded anew, thoroughly convinced: 
 
 "Very good, Aquiles. That's what you call go- 
 ing to the point." 
 
 Chicharra's bulky paunch, in its own manner, 
 though without undue noise, made a bow. 
 
 Raising his glance from the manuscript, Chi- 
 charra noticed that two or three persons had risen 
 and were sneaking away. 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 187 
 
 "For God's sake, gentlemen, don't go yet," he 
 cried in consternation. "The best of the program is 
 coming now. Listen." 
 
 Nobody cared to hear any more. The audience, 
 in the very midst of his reading, began to converse 
 in loud tones, without paying the slightest atten- 
 tion to the tedious reader. For his hearers had 
 become wearied, utterly bored. 
 
 Aquiles, pretending to notice nothing, continued 
 to inflict his reading upon them. And now they 
 reaUy began to sneak out. Aquiles saw that he 
 must make time, and stiU standing upon that kit- 
 chen rostrum, that tribunal chair, he continued to 
 read more hurriedly than ever, at full speed, suffo- 
 cated, sweating, exhausted. He found it difficult 
 now even to hear himself. His skilful vocal inflec- 
 tions and shadings had disappeared. A monotonous 
 patter, like that of rain, a muttering, like that of 
 the pious woman who mumbles her prayers, re- 
 sounded in those spacious precincts. 
 
 In view of the solemnity of the moment, 
 convinced of the integrity, abnegation, pa- 
 triotism, disinterestedness, talent, worth 
 and all the public and private virtues that 
 adorn our President, whose partizans we 
 are, staunch, ever so staunch, loyal and 
 unconditional, we offer him our collabora- 
 tion in the great work of saving the ideas 
 and the standards of the Great Liberal 
 Party from the artful, paid assassins of 
 the oligarchy, who sneak along in the dark, 
 and like fanatic conservatives and recalci- 
 
188 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 trant Goths wish to acquire the rule of the 
 nation and plunge us backward into the 
 epochs of obscurantism. But this shall not 
 take place while our beloved present Presi- 
 dent, elected by the people, continues to 
 preside over the Republic and guide the 
 Liberal Party to safety. 
 
 In this solemn and critical historical mo- 
 ment, in this epoch of important decisions, 
 we are pleased, without any reservations 
 whatsoever, before the eyes of the country 
 and of the whole world, to protest our 
 allegiance to the Government and to offer 
 the President, unconditionally, our serv- 
 ices as staunch partizans who approve all 
 his official acts, past, present and future. 
 
 Long live our sole chief, the President of 
 the Republic, illustrious American, re- 
 storer of our laws, great democrat and 
 hero of duty. Long live the Great His- 
 toric Liberal Party! Down with obscuran- 
 tism and oligarchy! Down with the Goths! 
 
 There was a thunderous outburst of applause, 
 due chiefly to the joy of the hearers that the speech 
 had come to an end. The orator with his handker- 
 chief wiped the sweat from his face. 
 
 Deeply stirred, Chicharra's admirer lurched for- 
 ward toward the tribunal chair to be the first to 
 embrace the famous general. Unfortunately Aquiles, 
 as he bent over, lost his balance and fell paunch 
 downward to' the floor. 
 
 Choking with laughter and trying to hide their 
 hilarity, the guests surrounded him: 
 
PROTESTATION OF ALLEGIANCE 189 
 
 "Did you hurt yourself?" 
 
 "Do you want a glass of water?" 
 
 "A little arnica would do you good." 
 
 "Have a drink." 
 
 But Chicharra, superior and indifferent, cut short 
 all questions and exclamations: 
 
 "It's nothing, gentlemen. In such a solemn mo- 
 ment, on a day such as today, fraught with gravity 
 for Venezuelan liberalism, we cannot occupy our- 
 selves with nonsense. If I fall and die, no matter; 
 others will follow in my tracks." 
 
 And he invited all present to sign the document he 
 had read. 
 
 The selfsame gentleman who had previously re- 
 quested him to let all the Greeks and Romans rest 
 in peace, now proposed that they should all sign 
 the manuscript, after suppressing all passages of a 
 historical nature. 
 
 "No, not that!" protested Chicharra energetically. 
 "Not that; I'll not allow my thoughts to be muti- 
 lated." 
 
 As they could come to no agreement, somebody 
 promised to draw up a new document, and a much 
 briefer one, on the spot. 
 
 Chicharra turned pale. Anything but that. This 
 would mean robbing hun of his glory as the father 
 and inspirer of the protestation of unconditional 
 allegiance to the chief executive. Before the by 
 no means smiling prospect of having his manuscript 
 cast aside altogether, Chicharra, now more tract- 
 able, agreed to have his thought mutilated. 
 
 The manuscript having been despoiled of all its 
 beautiful historical digressions, and reduced to less 
 
190 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 than half its original length, was signed by all 
 present. 
 
 When it was signed the question arose as to 
 whether this bit of unconditional prose should be 
 sent to the printer's. It should be distributed as a 
 handbill, free. But, who would pay for the print- 
 ing? Who? 
 
 "A waste of money," interposed the waggish, bur- 
 lesque individual. "Why scatter it broadcast? 
 Our purpose is to reach a single reader: the illus- 
 trious chief, the restorer, the great democrat, the 
 hero of duty. . . . That's my opinion. Then let's 
 send him our manuscript. ..." 
 
 They all told him not to be a jackass. And it was 
 decided to take up a collection then and there. The 
 hat of one of the men was handed from person to 
 person. Coins fell scantily into it; with less abund- 
 ance, in any case, than the laudatory adjectives in 
 Chicharra's document. 
 
 When the hat was handed to the famous Aquiles, 
 the famous Aquiles exclaimed: 
 
 "It was I who originated the idea of our mani- 
 festo; I was the promoter, and, it may be said, the 
 chief of this liberal manifestation; I have only just 
 written this page of our contemporary history which 
 we are about to publish ; and finally, I gave the use 
 of my living-room for the present assembly. It is 
 only fair that I should be exempted from contribut- 
 ing anything toward the printing." 
 
 And Chicharra, dignified and logical to the end, 
 did not disburse a single centimo. 
 
VII 
 
 THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 
 
 ALL debts must be paid, all terms of respite must 
 come to an end. There arrived at last the 
 moment for the removal of the Agualbngas from 
 their old home. Olga had been married the night 
 before. She had suddenly insisted upon the wed- 
 ding taking place as soon as possible. 
 
 Andres already had the complete furnishings. 
 Olga could now understand Irurtia's insistence. 
 
 "I'll put no obstacle in anybody's way," she 
 said, "especially in Rosaura's. Irurtia, becoming 
 angered, might break with her." 
 
 "Break what?" asked Rosaura, boldly. 
 
 "I understand everything, godmother," replied 
 Olga, shaking her sweet little blonde head with an 
 equivocal gesture. 
 
 In short, Olga Emmerich was sacrificing her last 
 weeks as a bachelor maiden all for the sake of the 
 Agualongas. 
 
 And indeed the three mothers could not under- 
 stand Olga's previous delay nor her subsequent 
 eagerness to be married; they imputed these capri- 
 cious changes to the whims and vagaries of such 
 a queer girl. 
 
 "The riddle, however, was easy to solve. 
 
 The Chilean Minister, accredited at the same time 
 
 191 
 
192 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 to Caracas and to Habana, left, several days later, 
 for Cuba, there to present his credentials, and leav- 
 ing a charge d'affaires in Venezuela. Together with 
 the Minister went Olga's attache, bound for the 
 Pearl of the Antilles. That was all. 
 
 There was nothing left for Olga but to marry; and 
 this she did with the utmost haste. 
 
 Why wait any longer, to no purpose? Why con- 
 tinue provoking Shylock Irurtia, who, right or 
 wrong, had taken it into his head that when a matter 
 has been agreed upon it must be carried through? 
 It wouldn't do to place any obstacles in the way of 
 the leisurely journey that old, indolent miser was 
 making toward matrimony. Even more: she must 
 take a direct interest in this saponaceous, slippery 
 Irurtia; especially now, when she was on the eve of 
 marriage and when the miser's money, flowing even 
 centimo by centimo into the Agualongas' money- 
 box, might prove so opportunely helpful to Olga and 
 her pauper husband. 
 
 Because of her affair with the Chilean, she had, 
 if not forgotten, at least neglected, the miser. 
 And those shrivelled-up, 'fraid-cat, bungling aunts 
 of hers were embroiling themselves in so many min- 
 ute, futile, complicated scruples, that the million- 
 aire usurer could escape them. But no, you old 
 hairy lizard, you'll not escape as long as Olga draws 
 a breath! Ah, vampire Irurtia, you of the long 
 claws and the gold, Olga will skilfully join you to 
 Rosaura, and bind your existence to that of her god- 
 mother! Other hands than yours will hold the 
 cords of your stuffed purse; others than yours will 
 turn the handle of your safe. Do you wish a wife? 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 193 
 
 Then take her and pay for her. You're not going 
 to be adored for your white hair, your long legs, 
 your donjuanesque excellence, for your rodent's 
 snout, your inquisitorial, hawk-like eyes, your bony 
 face, your ill-groonaed beard, your well-chewed nails, 
 your magpie gullet, economical vegetarianism, your 
 sordid stinginess, your crabbed unsociability, your 
 patched clothes and your celluloid collar. 
 
 No sooner was their niece's wedding over than 
 the three mothers, with tears still in their eyes, be- 
 gan to put the things together for the removal. 
 
 The packing and the transfer of their belongings 
 took several days. 
 
 After breakfast Andres and Olga came to accom- 
 pany the women and be of whatever assistance they 
 could. 
 
 It seemed incredible that there should be so many 
 ancient odds and ends in that structure. Disturb- 
 ing them, one disturbed the centuries. They came 
 to light from rickety trunks, from strange glass- 
 cases, from chests that lay forgotten in old cob- 
 webbed rooms, which nobody ever visited except 
 Eufemia from time to time, whenever her fondness 
 for antiques and her ennui led her to these dark 
 habitations that smelled of rats and were everywhere 
 embroidered with spider's webs. 
 
 As they thus brought out to air and light so many 
 slumbering antiquities, there were renewed in the 
 memory of the three women, and especially in that 
 of Eufemia, recollections of those who in life had 
 been the users and owners of those old objects, 
 which were today but the shadows of things. 
 
 What didn't they find? Gowns of a bygone 
 
194 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 fashion, tableware with the initials of such and such 
 an ancestor, clocks that marked the hour of a hun- 
 dred and more years ago; gew-gaws from ever so 
 many years back; bundles of yellow letters; and, 
 in the garrets, damaged furniture, a herdsman's 
 saddle with silver bridle and ornaments, an artist's 
 easel and half-effaced canvases. 
 
 Among the pieces of furniture were several of 
 interest: an old bed, for example, and chairs even 
 older. 
 
 The bed, or rather the frame of the bed that yet 
 remained, consisted of four salomonic columns about 
 two metres high, adorned with symmetrical pro- 
 tuberances of gold and topped by golden pine-cones. 
 The four posts were connected by cross-pieces of 
 carved wood; each cross-piece displayed, in high 
 relief, eight golden heads of angels or cupids. 
 
 Of the chairs but a single pair remained — each 
 with broken legs, loose- jointed, in lamentable and 
 inserviceable condition; yet despite all, majestic 
 amid their ruin. The front legs of each chair rep- 
 resented eagle's talons upon wooden balls; and for 
 a back each had a double-headed eagle with wide- 
 spread wings — an eagle holding in its claws and 
 against its breast, a shield with four quarters : a lion 
 rampant, a tree, some bars, a castle. 
 
 Others of the objects were curious: the insignia of 
 the order of Isabel the Catholic, a decoration 
 awarded to one of the royalist Agualongas, defender 
 of Spain in America against the emancipators; a 
 rosary of emeralds, still containing some of the 
 stones; a tortoise-shell snuff-box with openings at 
 each end; a ring woven of a woman's hair, surely. 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 195 
 
 Near the filigree of a cross that had lost its arms was 
 a nutshell, perhaps the result of unflaggingly patient 
 Chinese labor, containing a laboriously wrought 
 miniature chess board, in ivory, and not far from 
 the nutshell, an oblong case, likewise of ivory, for 
 sewing implements; the thimble and the shears were 
 still there; as to the other pieces, only their empty 
 places were visible. 
 
 And portraits, portraits, portraits, in crayon, in 
 oil, in daguerrotype and more modern fashion: men 
 with flowing mustache and energetic countenance; 
 maidens in the bloom of youth; matrons in absurd 
 hoop-skirts or monumental combs; a miniature; the 
 Agualonga with his cross of Isabel of Castile, in oil, 
 and even a recent colored photograph of Olga, which 
 had not satisfied Olga and had therefore been thrown 
 into the heap. 
 
 From some of the darkest rooms they extracted 
 vast canvases covered with dust and cobwebs, repre- 
 senting, first, Santa Rosalia, dark, with amorous eyes 
 and ebony tresses; the other, Magdalen, blonde and 
 plump like one of Rubens' Flemish women. Both 
 had belonged to a monastery. When the government 
 of the Republic, in the eighteen-seventies, had 
 closed all religious houses and expelled thie monks 
 and the nuns, these paintings had come into the 
 possession of the Agualonga family, having been pre- 
 sented tOythem by the Carmelites. In the presence 
 of the sacred pictures Eufemia, Alcira and 
 Rosaura recalled that one of the ancestral aunts, 
 Benigna, had belonged to that Order in the Caracas 
 convent. 
 
 In the same dark and dank habitation, in a cedar 
 
196 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 chest, Andres Rata came across a rusty sword. Be- 
 side the rusty old blade lay a brown velvet case worn 
 away with age. Andres opened the case and found 
 within two ancient, huge keys, more rusty even than 
 the sword and of even more battered and timeworn 
 aspect. Andres looked at them for a few moments, 
 and thinking that some monomaniac ancestor had 
 with fanatic care laid away these objects as old as 
 they were useless, fit more for an ironmonger's shop 
 than for preservation, he threw them into the refuse 
 heap. 
 
 Then. he examined the steel blade: on the hilt, 
 above a date and between two branches of laurel, 
 was engraved a proper name: the name of that 
 Agualonga who, at the age of twenty-four, had won 
 his spurs as captain, at Boyaca, on the 7th of August, 
 1819, and had been made commandant at Carabobo, 
 the 24th of June, 1821. 
 
 Then, surprised that the old rusty keys should 
 have been so carefully preserved together with this 
 weapon, he picked up the case of frayed velvet and 
 calling Olga, asked: 
 
 "Can you tell why these antediluvian keys are 
 kept and where they come from?" 
 
 "ReaUy, I don't, I can't recall," replied Olga. 
 "They look like keys to a church." 
 
 "A church? The keys to hell itself couldn't be 
 larger nor uglier." 
 
 They asked Eufemia. And Eufemia knew. Aunt 
 Hipolita had always revered those keys. She had 
 always kept them close beside the sword of Carabobo. 
 
 "Those old keys," she said, "are the keys to a city 
 of Alto-Peru: the Spanish generals, vanquished, 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 197 
 
 gave them over to the conquering generals; and the 
 conquering general, Antonio Jose de Sucre, Grand 
 Marshal of Ayacucho, presented them to one of his 
 oflScers, to our ancestor, who distinguished himself 
 among so many heroes, when that city was oc- 
 cupied." 
 
 Then she added : 
 
 "Nor are these relics the only ones of their kind 
 that are preserved in Venezuela. Venezuela is a 
 veritable museum of such rehcs. They attest how 
 many marvelous exploits were realized in a certain 
 epoch by the Venezuelans all through America. 
 The municipality of Cumana possesses the gold, 
 pearl-studded crown that Cochabamba, an ancient 
 and opulent city of the Plata, offered to Sucre, and 
 which Sucre sent to his native Cumana. The munic- 
 ipality of Caracas preserves in a crystal urn, that 
 famous standard of Pizarro, woven by the hands 
 of a Spanish queen, and hauled down from the 
 legendary Cuzco by a native of Caracas named 
 Simon Bolivar. The keys of Granadine Cartagena, 
 the Carthage of the Indies, may likewise be found in 
 Caracas, in the possession of the last descendants 
 of Mariano Montilla. In Spain, the descendants 
 of general don Pablo Morillo, who conquered 
 Cartagena from the Americans, bear the title Counts 
 of Cartagena. In America the descendents of the 
 Caracas general don Mariano Montilla, who cap- 
 tured Cartagena from the Europeans — and cap- 
 tured it forever — possess only these keya. But 
 they say that it is enough." 
 
 That afternoon Olga Emmerich and her husband 
 ate in the home of the Agualongas. 
 
198 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 At table the spinsters recalled the discovery — 
 for it might reaUy be called a discovery — of all the 
 old odds and ends that they had already forgotten. 
 The keys of the city of Alto-Peru came up for dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 "They are very valuable," said Andres. 
 
 "And I didn't know a thing about them," inter- 
 jected Olga. 
 
 "And to think I threw them into the refuse, with- 
 out realizing anything," added Rata. 
 
 "Yes; they're very valuable," commented Alcira. 
 
 Andres helped to appraise them: 
 
 "They are a precious jewel of the Republic." 
 
 And after a second, he continued: 
 
 "They could be sold to the government." 
 
 Eufemia, as if stung by a tarantula, as if shot 
 up by a spring, bounded from her seat, and replying 
 to what she considered little short of a profanation : 
 
 "No," she said, "as long as we live we will pre- 
 serve them, and sell them tc| nobody. When there 
 is no longer any Agualonga left they will be donated 
 to the Bolivian Museum, free of all charge. They 
 belong to the fatherland, and to the fatherland they 
 should return." 
 
 Olga came to her husband's defence. 
 
 "Andres is right. Rather than let them lie in 
 oblivion in some old rickety chest, in danger of be- 
 ing thrown into the refuse heap by the first person 
 *ha,t comes along, I'd prefer a hundred times to 
 obtain money for them." 
 
 Rosaura interceded. 
 
 All the opinions were worthy of consideration. 
 But in the present instance it behooved them all 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 199 
 
 to do as Eufemia desired. Besides, together with 
 the keys was a document requesting the same course 
 of procedure. Why oppose the wishes of the dead 
 and the living, just for a few pesetas? 
 
 The following morning a bonfire was made in the 
 corral, and into it were cast many, ever so many, of 
 the ancient, useless odds and ends: all the historic 
 wardrobe, the lame chairs, the rickety tables, the 
 snuff-smelling boxes, the pillows that reeked with 
 mould; all those ancient objects, the nests of cock- 
 roaches, the hammocks of spiders, the hiding places 
 of rats; all those remains of a century or two of 
 change, of wars, of peace, of death, of life. And 
 that bonfire of the past was sad, for there is nothing 
 sadder than life that has already been lived. 
 
 Other pieces of furniture and fixtures that might 
 still be used were distributed among beggars and 
 shamefully destitute persons. 
 
 The new home had scarcely enough room to con- 
 tain their indispensable belongings. The place 
 was so tiny! 
 
 It almost seemed to Eufemia a symbol of their 
 future existence, which would not be able to con- 
 tain their existence of yesterday. No traditions, 
 no history. A complete rupture with the past. 
 Those dead ancestors were buried deep. As for 
 their survivors, they must live! It would not be 
 very long before these three comradely lives would, 
 like so many lamps, go out. Their heirs would, do 
 as they pleased; they would efface even the memory 
 of the three sisters. To Olga, to Olga's children, 
 there would soon remain not a kindly thought, not 
 a gentle tear — nothing — nothing of that life of 
 
200 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 mute heroism, of constant self-sacrifice, of un- 
 spoken sadness, which had been Uved by the three 
 mothers. 
 
 They must depart in the afternoon. They did 
 not wish to await nightfall because of a certain 
 vague superstition. But the sun, fast setting, was. 
 drawing near to dusk. It was already six o'clock. 
 
 Hurriedly they heaped up whatever effects they 
 had not sent off before because they needed them up 
 to the last moment: a bundle of napkins, towels, 
 the tablecloth ; knives, cups, plates, baris of soap, and 
 five or six bird cages. Who was going to give canary 
 seed or banana or avocado to the goldenhammer, the 
 mocking-bird, to the little canaries? They loaded 
 the cook and her half-witted daughter with as much 
 as they could carry. Let them be off as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 The three women remained, dressed in black, al- 
 most in mourning, with Andres and Olga to accom- 
 pany them. 
 
 The old manorial dwelling was now a desert. 
 
 The five forms moved along like a single body, 
 or stood motionless like a sculptural group, amid 
 those silent cloisters — those spacious, denuded habi- 
 tations, in that shadowy patio, in that corridor of 
 anguish, in that mansion with its dark roofs, with its 
 long rain-gutters like gray arteries, with its ancient 
 protecting eaves, with its weeping willows^ with its 
 mute fountain — without a seat on which to sit 
 down, without a picture upon its wails, without a 
 curtain on the windows. Life fled from its walls. 
 The house seemed more powerless, larger, older, 
 sadder than ever. 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 201 
 
 At last the five grew silent; within each, a silent 
 voice was speaking, and each gave ear to it. An 
 atmosphere of gloom, of respectful veneration, a cer- 
 tain indefinable impression, vague, insistent, domi- 
 nated them all. 
 
 StUl silent, and still together, they turned to the 
 garden of the first patio. 
 
 Eufemia, pale, with sunken eyes, murmured two 
 words almost in Andres's ear, and Andres handed 
 her a small object: a penknife. 
 
 Then Eufemia stepped forward alone among the 
 plants and cut off stems of nard and of gladiolus. 
 With this bouquet of white and red she walked 
 to a comer of the patio where there rose a shrine of 
 stone with a Virgen del Carmen, likewise of stone, 
 in the niche. Before the image, in glasses of oil, 
 burned little butterflies of light. Eufemia de- 
 posited the bouquet of snowy flowers and the 
 bunch of red blossoms at the feet of the saint. 
 
 The others followed her, gravely and silently, in 
 this last token of homage to the patron saint of the 
 mansion. After she had placed the flowers at the 
 image's feet, Eufemia, without removing her violet 
 eyes from the saint, said: 
 
 "Our Lady of Mt. Carmel is an ancient cult 
 of our family. Those who built this house, erected 
 at the same time this altar. This image pre- 
 sided over the birth and youth of us all. On the 
 26th of March, 1812, at the time of the terrible 
 earthquake that destroyed half of Caracas, this wall 
 fell: only a part of the wall was left unharmed: that 
 section which serves as support to the saint. The 
 Virgin was untouched, rising triiunphant above the 
 
202 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ruins. Ever since that time the worship of the 
 saint has grown twice as fervent in our family." 
 
 Eufemia's ashen-hued head, her stubby nose, her 
 porcelain pallor, her aristocratic thinness, her purple 
 eyes, imparted majesty to the grief that was written 
 all over her countenance. 
 
 Exhausted, meager, wiry, the living soul of the 
 house, Eufemia continued to lead the group about 
 the place. The group turned toward the interior of 
 the dwelling. 
 
 The five forms reached a canon or a corridor off 
 which branched a row of high- walled square rooms; 
 the habitations had already begun to be invaded by 
 the falling shadows. Their steps re-echoed in the 
 darkness. 
 
 They crossed two rooms and paused at the third. 
 
 "Here," said Eufemia, facing Olga, "here your 
 mother was born. Here Gertrudis was born, and 
 Alcira, Rosaura, and I. Here died our mother. Here 
 died our grandmother. Here died the mother of 
 our grandmother." 
 
 Sighs and sobs issued from their throats. And the 
 group of tears traversed other rooms that led to the 
 inner patio. In almost every room, they paused 
 to summon memories and family celebrities. The 
 past, here present, was bidding its memory-laden 
 farewell. 
 
 Andres Rata, the intruder, the new-comer, to 
 whom these walls that evoked tears from the women 
 said nothing, nothing at aU — that man of mean 
 and grovelling soul, feeling out of place and under- 
 standing that he was here superfluous, whispered 
 into Olga's ear: 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 203 
 
 "Cut this short and let's be off, for heaven's sake. 
 This looks as though it will never come to an end." 
 
 Olga made no other reply than a gesture of dis- 
 pleasure that meant: "Shut up, you fool!" 
 
 The group returned by another wing of the house. 
 They arrived anew at the front patio, where the 
 Virgin, in her stone niche, stood sadly amid her 
 butterflies of light and the flowers at her feet. 
 
 A massive granite staircase the steps of which 
 were chipped by use led to the rooms of the 
 first story — really another house within the man- 
 sion. During the past few years the Agualongas 
 had rarely ascended these stairs. The floor above 
 had remained a sort of museum and depository of 
 odds and ends; furniture, dress trimmings, knick- 
 knacks, damaged or unused articles — a warehouse 
 of all the antiquities that they had just distributed 
 among the beggars or burned in the pyre of the 
 corral. 
 
 Pointing upward with the index finger of her 
 right hand, Eufemia, with her voice of that after- 
 noon — a muflEled voice that seemed to issue from 
 an abode of agony, spoke ever so softly: 
 
 "More than once aunt Hipolita recounted that in 
 these upper salons the royalist Agualongas gave a 
 ball to General Pablo Morillo and his oflScers, in 
 May or April of 1815, in celebration of the arrival 
 of the fifteen thousand European soldiers comprising 
 the pacifying army that Morillo had brought; aind 
 aunt Hipolita added that in order to efface this 
 recollection the republican Agualongas gave another 
 ball, to Bolivar, in the selfsame salons, on the 2nd 
 of August, 1821. 
 
204 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 What a wealth of memories! 
 
 The cults of religion, of the family and the father- 
 land were blended in their love of these massive old 
 walls, so mute to the new-comer, yet so filled for the 
 three spiasters with familiar voices, with ever-fresh 
 recollections, with a hovering past that had not yet 
 disappeared and which might well have been called 
 present. 
 
 Night continued to advance. 
 
 Eufemia ceased speaking and the group stood 
 silent in the corridor, ready to leave, not far from 
 the door of the outer vestibule. 
 
 It was the definitive moment of farewell. 
 
 None of the women dared to be the first to take 
 a step forward toward the exit; none dared to break 
 the silence. Their handkerchiefs rose to their eyes. 
 
 In the midst of the invading darkness, which had 
 now become almost complete, Rosaura covered her 
 face with both hands and her tears fell in silence. 
 A recollection had suddenly come to her mind; that 
 of the last time she had, in that same corridor, close 
 by that same door, facing the perfumed patio, 
 pressed the hand of the man who loved her — the 
 man whom she loved but whom she had refused 
 because of Olga. And now an ordinary fellow was 
 taking Olga away; now, when Rosaura no longer was 
 in the bloom of her youth, when her spirit flagged, 
 when she needed affection, support, warmth, a home. 
 And now a grotesque old caricature, an odious usurer, 
 insulted her misfortune with his ridiculous preten- 
 sions! And she must endure his chatter, his com- 
 pany, lest Chicharra call her egoist and Olga up- 
 braid her as a bad mother, incapable of the slightest 
 
THE OLD HOME'S FAREWELL 205 
 
 sacrifice! She was disgusted with life. She wished 
 to die! 
 
 All at once Rosaura became aware that someone 
 was tenderly embracing her, and that someone's sigh 
 was being stifled against her shoulder. 
 
 It was Alcira, whose own intimate thoughts were 
 tugging at her heart and moistening her eyes, im- 
 pelling her gently toward sisterly arms. 
 
 Night had fallen completely. 
 
 And here were the superstitious women, fearing 
 the gloom, the sinister darkness, in the last farewell 
 to their ancestral home! . . , 
 
 When, at last, having reached the street, they 
 turned the four-pound key in the solemn cedar 
 portal with its bronze plates and ornaments, in those 
 three hearts, ill with homesickness and victimized 
 by fate, the key was also turned upon all smiling 
 hope, all future illusions. 
 
 They were already placing their feet upon the step 
 of a coach that was to lead them to their new 
 dwelling, when some half shut door, swung by the 
 wind, closed with a sudden, noisy bang. 
 
 That bang of the door was the farewell of the 
 ancestral home. 
 
PART THREE 
 
 I 
 BIRDS OF A FEATHER 
 
 TT7HEN she recognized Chicharra's voice, Olga 
 W advanced to meet the general in more or less 
 feigned surprise. 
 
 "Your excellency in my home ! How glad I am to 
 see you, my dear general!" 
 
 Chicharra smiled, extending both his hands toward 
 her. 
 
 "Yes, dear niece. I said to myself, 'If the moun- 
 tain doesn't come to me, I'U go to the mountain.' " 
 
 "But the mountain was thinking of coming to 
 you, uncle! It's a case of telepathy. We have so 
 many things to talk over." 
 
 "We always have things to talk over. Fortu- 
 nately we understand each other well." 
 
 Olga, who so well knew this vain, grotesque crea- 
 ture, assured him that they understood each other 
 because he, who was a truly great man, was always 
 able to descend to the level of others and fit him- 
 self to their smaller stature, without crushing any- 
 body with his indisputable superiority. 
 
 "A great man, my dear niece! And as short as I 
 am!" 
 
 "What about Caesar! And Bolivar! And Napo- 
 leon!" 
 
 207 
 
208 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "Hush, child, hush," replied the hero, dizzied by 
 the incense. 
 
 And turning his eyes roguishly in the direction 
 of Olga's abdomen, where maternity did not yet 
 delineate its noble curve, he asked her jestingly: 
 
 "Married four months and nothing doing yet/" 
 
 "Nothing, uncle! A three-cornered honeymoon! 
 How horrible! Even when the third party remains 
 in his place." 
 
 The hero opportunely began to philosophize. 
 
 Olga in good humor, as usual. But, why not? 
 She was young. What a treasure is youth ! "Youth, 
 divine treasure !"^'^ It is never appreciated until 
 it has flown. It is like sight, another treasure whose 
 true value is known only by the blind. He had 
 suffered a great disillusionment — a very great one. 
 His experience in life was vast indeed. In his 
 Inouth he felt a foretaste of bitterness. 
 
 "These white hairs," he added, touching his gray 
 strands, "enclose more wisdom than a library. Ac- 
 cumulated experience, my girl; that is all of learn- 
 ing." 
 
 Chicharra expanded in pertinent considerations of 
 the most platitudinous philosophy. 
 
 A young man, however gifted and studious he 
 might be, would always be ignorant of half the things 
 that Chicharra knew by heart simply from having 
 lived. He had wasted none of his time learning 
 nonsense; he had not gone blind burning the mid- 
 night oil; his books were daily experience, observa- 
 tion, nature, man. His knowledge of the human 
 
 " A quotation of the first line of Euben Dario's famous poem 
 beginning "Juventud, divino tesoro." 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 209 
 
 heart and his store of social experience were pro- 
 found. 
 
 "And all this to what avail, my dear niece?" he 
 asked in a melancholy accent. "What's the use? 
 More than four months ago I headed a liberal move- 
 ment, and what's the result? Answer me, I say. 
 What has come of it?" 
 
 "You must have got something out of it, Uncle," 
 said Olga, ambiguously and courteously* 
 
 "Nothing; not a centimo. ... If the conserva- 
 tives say the contrary, it's an atrocious bit of slander. 
 It's more than six months — six months! — since the 
 government forsook me. They treat me as if I 
 were pest-stricken. Even the very liberals of the 
 ministry slam the door in my nose." 
 
 Olga smiled to herself at the thought of a door 
 slamming against uncle Aquiles' carbuncle-like nasal 
 appendage. 
 
 Chicharra noticed the impertinent smile and he 
 resumed his account, somewhat provoked: 
 
 "That slamming the door in my nose is merely a 
 rhetorical figure, you'll understand." 
 
 Olga, desiring to scatter the cloud that her sudden 
 hilarity had produced, protested: 
 
 "For the Lord's sake. Uncle, I should say it was. 
 You don't have to tell me that. I ought to know 
 who Aquiles Chicharra is! At the slightest display 
 you'd eat the ministry alive, with the President as 
 dessert." 
 
 This sally had its effect. 
 
 Chicharra's spirit brightened and recovered its 
 diaphanous serenity. Even the carbuncle Of his 
 nose, becoming congested with pleasure, began to 
 
210 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 glow. He certainly would eat the offenders alive! 
 Olga knew him better than anybody else. He was 
 no hector nor braggart, but he certainly would eat 
 them alive! Yes, indeed; he was capable of any- 
 thing — anything at all — when his honor was as- 
 sailed. That would be thq last straw ! Since he did 
 not possess, like others, a swollen fortune acquired 
 in politics, but rather a modest pittance that just 
 enabled him to get along, his sole treasure consisted 
 in his good name. That good name, which he would 
 hand down to his offspring, he would hold intact at 
 all costs. 
 
 Olga listened resignedly. Chicharra himself, un- 
 derstanding that he had been harping too long upon 
 himself, and desirous of flattering Olga, so that Olga 
 would grant him what he had come to ask, said to 
 her: 
 
 "And you, niece? Confide in me." 
 
 "Heavens, Uncle. A married woman to betray her 
 confidences! Don't you think that a woman's inti- 
 mate thoughts belong to her husband, too? And 
 that she can't speak of them without betraying her 
 husband?" 
 
 "Very well; if they belong to both, half of them 
 are yours. And I imagine you may do as you please 
 with your half. Let's see, then. Speak." 
 
 "No, I can't share it with you, Uncle. The trea- 
 sure is kept undivided; intact, as you say of your 
 honor." ' 
 
 "Humbug, my little girl! Humbug! You simply 
 distrust me!" 
 
 Distrust him! Very well then, she would tell 
 him, for Chicharra was an exception as far as she 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 211 
 
 was concerned. He had made the match; he had 
 introduced her to Andres; he had induced the Agua- 
 longas to accept Rata, or had at least contributed to 
 that result. In a word : Chicharra had married her 
 off. Whether she was happy or not, she owed it aU 
 to him and to nobody else. 
 
 When had Chicharra ever evaded responsibility? 
 Wherefore, in the consciousness of that responsibil- 
 ity which the blonde and graceful creature had so 
 prettily imputed to him, the imponderable Aquiles, 
 the hero without peer, the favorite of fame and 
 ridicule, exclaimed: 
 
 "But you are surely happy. That can be seen 
 from your face; it sounds from your very conversa- 
 tion. Andres is a young Liberal of high merit , . . 
 and great future. He's on the right road." 
 
 "He's as good as an angel to me. He tries to 
 anticipate my every thought, though at times he 
 doesn't succeed. He'd throw himself into the flames 
 for me. But frankly, Uncle, it's hard to get used 
 to Uviug with a man that you never lived with. It 
 means a disruption of one's most deeply rooted 
 habits; a sacrifice of one's most personal whims — 
 mere nonsense, of course, but yet so important." 
 
 "But there are compensations." 
 
 "There are compensations, to be sure. But just 
 as surely, the bruskness of the change surprises one. 
 Above all in my case. Uncle. Remember that it's 
 a matter of persons so diverse in origin, habits, rela- 
 tions, ideas. Although the same thing must happen 
 to aU newly-weds. Don't you think so, Uncle?" 
 
 "That may well be, my girl: I have never been 
 a recently married young lady." 
 
212 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The hero laughed vociferously at his own joke. 
 And in the midst of his guffaws, he said to himself: 
 "That's a mighty fine one; I must repeat it when 
 the chance offers, before a more public audience." 
 
 "In a word," resumed the general. "Does matri- 
 mony please you or not?" 
 
 "The good part I like. I should say so. The 
 bad, no." 
 
 "And what do you call the bad?" 
 
 Olga found it hard to explain. Perhaps what she 
 judged bad in matrimony was bad only in her case 
 — in her, in Andres, or in both. Who knows! Life 
 is one surprise after another. The most important 
 things, which bulk large in other folks' lives, she saw 
 through eyes that were nearly blind; but certain 
 insignificant things she frankly could not tolerate; 
 they wracked her nerves, they embittered her, they 
 caused her suffering. For example, no sooner does 
 Andres come home than he puts on a pair of thread- 
 bare slippers and urges her to go about the house 
 in the same free manner, without any corset. 
 
 "But these are trifles unworthy of mention. A 
 little maneuvering and coaxing on your part 
 and ..." 
 
 "Trifles! But it's just such trifles that distin- 
 guish persons in society. We've been married al- 
 ready four months and all my coaxing and maneu- 
 vering have been of no avail in curing him of this 
 and other enormous trifles. I'm fond of Andres — 
 of course; but, I freely grant, I give him permis- 
 sion, yes, permission, to do as he pleases, and then 
 I'm the one to suffer tortures." 
 
 "Why, my dear niece, this isn't drowning one's 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 213 
 
 self in a vase of water, but rather in a half vase, or 
 a drop, like a miserable insect." 
 
 "And you call it a drop of water to have been 
 compelled to give up the greater number of my social 
 relations, in order to spare Andres, just because he 
 hasn't the same friends?" 
 
 "Then — divorce?" 
 
 "Who's talking of divorce? Nonsense! I don't 
 complain. I mention this so that you may do what 
 you can for me; but at bottom I'm very happy with 
 my husband. The proof is that I knowingly re- 
 nounced everything, all for his sake." 
 
 The truth was that she had not withdrawn from 
 society; it was society that had withdrawn from her. 
 
 That gradual withdrawal had mortified her van- 
 ity. She felt the aversion, and try as she might 
 like the worldly-wise creature she was, to conceal 
 the hurt, she was now voicing the pangs of the 
 wound. 
 
 Chicharra had heard his daughter Tula remark 
 more than a hundred times that ever since Olga's 
 marriage, everybody had begun to shun her. And 
 now Olga herself was confessing it. And Chicharra, 
 instead of pretending not to understand and shifting 
 the course of the conversation, exclaimed: 
 
 "And why do they repudiate Andres! It's their 
 imbecUic conservative and ultramontane preju- 
 dices!" 
 
 "And the Liberals are the same. Uncle." 
 
 "I don't believe it." 
 
 "Then believe it now. These aren't party follies 
 or hatreds; they are class prejudices. The social 
 groups, especially those that consider themselves 
 
214 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 superior, defend themselves passionately against in- 
 truders from without." 
 
 "That's bad." 
 
 "It's good, say I. They owe their existence to 
 that esprit de corps." 
 
 She paused for the interval of a sigh, and added : 
 
 "Among these persons even the highest virtues 
 of outsiders meet with no ready welcome; on the 
 other hand, they shut their eyes tight to the faults 
 of their own set." 
 
 Olga began to cite instances; and she poured out 
 all her venom in the names. 
 
 Dona X., who has four children from as many 
 different fathers. The Z girls, who have "at homes" 
 for men only. Don So-and-so, a drunken sot. Don 
 Such-and-such, who had occupied but three public 
 offices because he had only three daughters. There 
 were the children of dona Perenceja, a woman whom 
 they called doiia Pereza (i.e., idleness), because idle- 
 ness is the mother of all vices. Francisco Linares 
 Alcantara — Alcantarita, that overripe hermaph- 
 rodite and lardaceous poltroon, who had the soul, 
 the shape, the whims and vices of a woman. 
 
 Olga might have added her own example. 
 
 She had been accepted, with a smile on their lips, 
 despite those moles of hers which were so many in 
 number that they almost darkened her complexion. 
 On the day she married Andres Rata all doors were 
 closed to her. 
 
 Chicharra applauded Olga's inexhaustible, mor- 
 dant, caustic speech. 
 
 "You're a thermocautery, niece. You are ter- 
 rible." 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 215 
 
 And translating a cowardly thought that oc- 
 curred to him, he said: 
 
 "I shouldn't care to fall into your claws." 
 
 "You! My uncle, my friend, my ally? I don't 
 show my nails to you. That would be rank ingrati- 
 tude. I admire and respect all that is worthy of 
 respect and admiration. As for the rest, chust." 
 
 And her lips imitated scornful expectoration. 
 
 After a moment, she added: 
 
 "One needs money, money, money." 
 
 And she returned to the point: 
 
 "You must have money to be independent, to 
 travel, to get out of this horrible rat-hole of Caracas, 
 to be happy." 
 
 Chicharra nodded assent, while Olga continued to 
 speak: 
 
 "And by the way, Uncle," continued Olga, by force 
 of the association of ideas. "By the way: this Irurtia 
 affair isn't goiug well at all." 
 
 "What do you mean, not going well?" 
 
 "Those crazy aunts of mine are letting the oppor- 
 tunity slip by. They haven't even been clever 
 enough to hold on to him. While I was there don 
 CamUo got into the habit of visiting my godmother 
 daily, or almost as often; he was already on the 
 point of coming out with his song, and perhaps pro- 
 posing to her. Well, now he hardly ever pays them 
 a visit. They've let him not only get cold, but ab- 
 solutely congeal. The old Shylock's enthusiasm has 
 already passed." 
 
 "Passed? At his age? Until when could he post- 
 pone it?" 
 
 "If it hasn't passed, it will. I know the wily old 
 
216 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 fellow. But I can't lead the procession now. I 
 can't live here and in my aunts' home at the same 
 time." 
 
 "Those women — the poor souls — are very good 
 indeed," assured Chicharra, "but they are cer- 
 tainly silly geese." 
 
 And recalling that opportunity is depicted bald, 
 he tried to seize the chance that had presented 
 itself to him, promising his aid to Olga in this Irurtia 
 affair, in exchange for what he asked of her — ' what 
 he had come to solicit from his niece. 
 
 "Very well, my dear niece," he began. "I promise 
 to help us catch the old fox. He won't escape 
 us two." 
 
 Olga approved the idea. 
 
 Escape them! Not if he were a hundred times as 
 foxy! 
 
 Chicharra added: 
 
 "We'll concoct a plan with due deliberation, with- 
 out any haste. I hate sudden, improvised affairs, 
 lacking all foundation and solidity. You just com- 
 plete whatever occurs to you ; I, my girl, am at your 
 service without any sort of condition." 
 ' Olga smiled. How solemn this almost political 
 language was! This offer of Chicharra's services, 
 "without any sort of condition," moved her to 
 laughter. She told him so, and his vanity was 
 piqued. 
 
 "And you, niece? Weren't you talking more 
 solemnly than a college graduate, a few moments 
 ago, when with a veritable sociologist's expression 
 you ventured your opinions upon social groups and 
 their narrow exclusivism? Let us not investigate 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 217 
 
 details too closely. That is unworthy of us. And 
 long live our alliance!" 
 
 "Viva!" exclaimed Olga, clapping her hands. 
 
 " 'A very noble and very loyal' alliance, like the 
 city of Coro in the Spanish days. I ask of you and 
 you give me — I give you if you ask me." 
 
 "That depends, Uncle. I, a woman; you, an 
 incorrigible gallant; you are liable to ask me certain 
 things that I may grant only to my husband." 
 
 She had spoken in jest, and it was as a jest that 
 Chicharra took her words, although he was at bot- 
 tom happy that the girl should believe him, "per- 
 haps in good faith," a persistent wooer. And quick 
 as a lightning flash, he thought: "If she only knew 
 the truth; that I am not really such." The eager 
 intent was never lacking, however. Good heavens, 
 whenever he gazed at a short skirt, whenever he 
 encountered the little girls of thirteen or fourteen 
 coming out of school and displaying their little pro- 
 voking calves! Before the stockings and skirts of 
 a full-grown or almost adult maiden, he felt himself 
 a faun. He was capable of pouncing upon her, as 
 on that distant afternoon with Olga, when he grew 
 hot with lust as he showed the child scabrous photo- 
 graphs, while her velvety, pink skin and the blonde 
 little hairs of her neck engulfed his senses and 
 aroused the satyr in him, which was then ever on 
 the alert. 
 
 This sudden recollection almost caused Chicharra 
 to blush, for he feared lest his niece make out his 
 indecent thought. 
 
 "For some time," he said, "I have been concerned 
 only with public affairs." 
 
218 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Maliciously she harped upon her ideas of gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 "Public affairs! A strumpet is a public affair. 
 Don't slander yourself, Uncle." 
 
 "My dear girl, please! I'm speaking of politics. 
 Politics absorbs me." 
 
 And in order to forestall any other nonsense on 
 Olga's part, he added, hurriedly: 
 
 "And it was concerning politics that I came to 
 speak to you." 
 
 "I'm all ears." 
 
 "Listen, then." 
 
 "I'm listening." 
 
 He complained that Olga wouldn't be serious even 
 for a minute at a time. And yet, what he was about 
 to mention was by no means a laughing matter. 
 
 As she now seemed disposed to listen to him with 
 interest, since evidently Chicharra was not up to 
 any of his faunish tricks, he began to explain his 
 plans. What a project! 
 
 For more than six months the government had 
 appeared hostile to him. More than four months 
 previous he had headed a great Liberal manifesta- 
 tion, without the slightest result. Then, at the time 
 of the banquet given in honor of the chief execu- 
 tive, he had originated and made public an exten- 
 sive manifestation, "a pithy document," to the 
 President of the Republic. 
 
 The chief executive was unmoved. 
 
 Even private letters, ardent and enthusiastic in 
 the extreme, were left unanswered. Seeing how un- 
 availing his public and private efforts were, and how 
 bootless were the offices of the ministers, whom the 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 219 
 
 President was pleased to ignore, he directed himself 
 to the wife of the attorney, that she might obtain 
 him some modest little post. 
 
 "A little post?" asked Olga, amazed at the gen- 
 eral's modesty. 
 
 "A post that shall accord with my political im- 
 portance and my long list of services to the Liberals. 
 You know that I have been everything in Venezuela, 
 except Archbishop and President." 
 
 "Very well. And the attorney's wife?" 
 
 "She wasn't able to get anything for me, either. 
 Like her husband, she finally stopped answering my 
 letters. As for visiting her, a useless task. My 
 perseverance lagged: I never saw her. As you may 
 gather from my remarks, these persons seem deter- 
 mined to force me into the camp of the opposition. 
 I dislike extreme measures; but if they compel me, 
 it will be terrible." 
 
 "And is that your plan, uncle? Is that what you 
 are counting on my aid for?" 
 
 Chicharra soothed her. 
 
 No; it wasn't that. Before taking such a step 
 he would like to try a master stroke. He knew 
 politics fairly well, and had not yet lost his courage. 
 Olga surely must know how fond the President was 
 of dancing. He was a veritable ballet-dancer! 
 
 And energetically, he added: 
 
 "That scoundrel plays politics with his feet." 
 
 "Yes, he's wild for dancing." 
 
 "Well, then, I'll give a ball in his honor." 
 
 Olga applauded; and, her curiosity aroused, she 
 was eager to learn what role Chicharra had assigned 
 to her in all this scheming. 
 
220 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "What role?" replied Chicharra. "A very im- 
 portant one: the leading one, in fact. You'll see." 
 
 "Very well. Let's see." 
 
 Then he explained. 
 
 The president, in addition to being crazy about 
 dancing and a veritable faun, loved women even 
 more than the dance. He was a lewd, bestial, des- 
 picable fellow; but he must be taken as he was. 
 They could not transform that lascivious ape, 
 whirled from the forests by the revolutionary hurri- 
 cane, into a perfect gentleman overnight. Ah, those 
 revolutions, those revolutions! How he hated them! 
 
 The hero was about to launch forth into an ex- 
 temporaneous disquisition; but Olga brought him 
 back to the point. 
 
 "And your plan? And my role?" 
 
 In short, he would give a ball to that cave man, 
 but that was not the important point. The trog- 
 lodyte was given so many balls! The novelty con- 
 sisted in a certain quadrille; or, more exactly, in a 
 quadrille figure that he, Chicharra, had invented. 
 
 In the aforesaid figure, at a given moment, the 
 gentlemen separate from the ladies. That is, all 
 withdraw except one gentleman. Around this sole 
 remaining gentleman the women close in a circle, 
 thus weaving a garland of beauties. The circle 
 keeps getting narrower and narrower. The women 
 thus, with their bodies, stifle the lucky man in the 
 center. The latter's partner, pressed on by the 
 avalanche of women, remains for a moment before 
 her gallant, tightly squeezed to him, body to body, 
 so that not a hair can pass between them. Then 
 the figure opens up, ever so slowly ... 
 
BIRDS OF A FEATHER 221 
 
 Chicharra was of the opinion that this would be 
 a master stroke. 
 
 The satyr of the mountains, the overwhelmed 
 President — the center of the choreographic figure, 
 naturally — would turn half crazy amidst so many 
 feminine forms, breathing aphrodisiac perfumes, 
 garlanded with tender arms, surrounded by nude 
 shoulders, feeling and beholding bosoms and backs 
 that would press softly against him; before him, 
 most important of all, he would feel the intimate 
 contact of a youthful, beautiful, dazzling, madden- 
 ing maiden. 
 
 "It's a great stroke, niece," assured the famous 
 and inestimable Chicharra, rubbing his palms. "It's 
 a master stroke! Maybe I dont know a thing or 
 two about politics! Maybe I don't know men! 
 Either that monkey from the mountains loses his 
 head, or my name isn't Aquiles Chicharra." 
 
 To get down to brass tacks — would Olga be will- 
 ing to play the role of the President's partner in 
 that quadrille? 
 
 She raised objections. "Caracas would gossip. 
 And suppose Andres should not consent?" 
 
 "Andres wUl be tickled to death," exclaimed 
 Chicharra confidently. "Delighted. I know him 
 better than you do." 
 
 And he went on: 
 
 "As compensation, I offer to bring about Irurtia's 
 marriage to Rosaura; and, if you wish it, I'll get a 
 consulate for Andres. In that way, you can spend 
 two or three years in Europe ; and in the meantime, 
 let Caracas gossip all it pleases." 
 
 Olga hesitated. 
 
222 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 The hero ended by assuring her: 
 
 "In Europe the world is yours: that is your proper 
 field of activity." 
 
 Olga was still hesitant. Chicharra was unable to 
 obtain a little post for himself, and here he was, 
 promising consulates! Then she thought: "Per- 
 haps it would be worth while for me to manipulate 
 the President and let him know who I am." The 
 friendship of the President might compensate for 
 the recently lost friendship of Caracas. Life was so 
 complicated ! 
 
 Chicharra, seeing that she was vacillating, tried 
 to bring her to a decision, placing her between the 
 sword and the wall: 
 
 "What is your answer? Yes or no? Remember 
 that opportunity is depicted bald. Our very destiny 
 rests upon this affair. What do you say?" 
 
 Olga raised her bust ; she raised her pretty, blonde 
 head, as if in defiance of all celestial and terrestrial 
 powers, and replied: 
 
 "I accept." 
 
II 
 
 A HOUSE THAT TORTURES EUFEMIA 
 AND PROVES ROSAURA'S SALVATION 
 
 THE Agualongas had no cause for complaint 
 against Irurtia. They had heard so many evil 
 things spoken of the money-lender, and their heads 
 had been filled with so many tales concerning the 
 miser, that Eufemia, Alcira and Rosaura, despite 
 their invariable tendency to believe in one's good 
 intentions, in one's kind heart, and in everybody's 
 honesty— ^projecting their own characters into 
 those of the persons with whom they dealt — de- 
 spite that candid optimism which had cost aU three 
 so dearly, could not liberate themselves from a feel- 
 ing of apprehension and mistrust regarding Irurtia. 
 Up to the very last moment they had feared some 
 Shylockian trick, afraid lest Shylock should not fulfil 
 his agreement and give them a house and money in 
 exchange for their hereditary home. 
 
 Particularly fearful were Alcira and Eufemia, to 
 whom Olga had always spoken of Irurtia in a man- 
 ner quite distinct from that in which she men- 
 tioned him to Rosaura. To the first two sisters 
 she represented him as a bandit, a swindler, more 
 slippery than an eel. But fortunately he was in 
 love. The fate of them all depended upon Rosaura. 
 Without Rosaura's collaboration, without her kind 
 
 223 
 
224 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 reception of Irurtia's attentions, Irurtia would escape 
 them, leaving them not a centimo. In that case, the 
 argument had run, Olga could not get married. 
 What a misfortune! The two sisters must see to 
 it that Rosaura tolerated the wealthy scamp. 
 
 Her godmother she humbugged in another way, 
 and with different arguments. Irurtia was, at bot- 
 tom, the finest of fellows. He had his faults, natu- 
 rally, like all the rest of us. She should tolerate him 
 a bit, provisionally, so that he should open his coffer 
 of gold. Afterwards, they would see. For the 
 present, let Rosaura make a little sacrifice for Olga's 
 sake. Her god-daughter's future depended upon 
 it. Rosaura held Olga's happiness in her hands. 
 But let her do as she thought best. Olga demanded 
 nothing. 
 
 The rogue knew her three mothers. She knew 
 them very well, indeed. 
 
 So that, because of Olga's arguments, Alcira and 
 Eufemia shut their eyes to the fairly serious pre- 
 tensions of Irurtia, if, in fact, they did not encourage 
 him with the utmost tact. But they had faith in 
 Rosaura. Somehow or other, in some magic man- 
 ner, Rosaura would exorcise the danger. Wherefore 
 they always called her selfish when in her suUen 
 moments she refused to receive the old man. 
 
 Working in such a way, Eufemia and Alcira, in- 
 veigled by Olga, were unwittingly made into fellow- 
 conspirators of their niece. Yet not for a moment 
 did either of the sisters believe in Olga's distorted 
 project nor in the genuine possibility of Rosaura's 
 marriage to Irurtia. 
 
 Alcira and Eufemia believed implicitly that it was 
 
A HOUSE THAT TORTURES 225 
 
 due to Rosaura that don Camilo had nbt withdrawn 
 from the negotiations. 
 
 "It's all your work, Rosaura," the sisters assured 
 her. 
 
 "God knows what it costs me," replied the other. 
 
 Only for Olga's sake could she have made the 
 sacrifice of enduring don Camilo for afternoon upon 
 afternoon, week after week. 
 
 Irurtia, indeed, had lived up to his word. 
 
 He had given over to them as good as new, or 
 almost as good, the house they had agreed upon; 
 and he had given into their hands, in cash, the sum 
 previously fixed upon, with which they married Olga, 
 "as befitted a princess," provided themselves with 
 clothes and, finally, paid the expenses of the re- 
 moval. Whatever was left they delivered almost 
 intact to their niece, against any unforeseen neces- 
 sity. The Agualongas could foresee no events in 
 their own case that might be exorcised with money, 
 for they had saved no money. What could three 
 spinsters like them need! The little pension that 
 they received as nieces of the illustrious patriot was 
 enough to supply their requirements. 
 
 Although dissatisfied with destiny, which had 
 compelled them to depart from their patrimonial 
 home, the Agualongas felt grateful to Irurtia, or 
 something akin to gratitude. Thanks to him they 
 had been able to marry off Olga. 
 
 "Thanks to me," Rosaura would at times amend, 
 having become filled with the importance of her 
 role in that affair. 
 
 "Thanks first of all to you. But if don Camilo 
 had cared to play us some trick ..." 
 
226 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 This they often repeated: 
 
 "If don Camilo had cared to play us some trick!" 
 
 "Then farewell to the wedding," Andres would 
 conclude, with a pedantic phrase. 
 
 It was this chimerical trick that Irurtia had not 
 played them, for which they were grateful to him. 
 
 And they even thought: 
 
 "Perhaps he hasn't even made, on the exchange, 
 as much as we imagine." 
 
 The miser of am Irurtia had reaped his little 
 harvest — that was certain. According to his 
 maxims and his practises, business was business. It 
 was like a duel: the blades cross, the opponents 
 fence: the art consists in wounding your adversary 
 and yourself escaping without a scratch. 
 
 This time, Irurtia's opponent had been the 
 woman he loved. But his affection for Rosaura — 
 his very sincere affection — was not enough to lead 
 him into committing a folly. Sentiment has 
 nothing to do with the pocketbook. Love is one 
 thing and money is another. They mustn't be con- 
 founded. 
 
 Irurtia proposed that the Agualongas should oc- 
 cupy a pretty little house, comfortable and rela- 
 tively spacious. He would thus kill two birds with 
 one stone. In addition to doing these pious women 
 a genuine favor, he would disburse the smallest pos- 
 sible sum in compensation ; the better the house he 
 offered them, the less money he would have to give 
 with it. 
 
 This idea had already occurred to him out of 
 antipathy to Olga, when the negotiations began; 
 then, as his feeling of repulsion for the niece com- 
 
A HOUSE THAT TORTURES 227 
 
 menced to disappear, on account of the latter's 
 flattering wiles, Irurtia grew firmer in his first reso- 
 lution, not now through antipathy for the Emmerich 
 girl, but through his esteem for the Agualongas. 
 
 For this reason he insisted that they should choose 
 that pretty little cottage in the parish of Santa 
 Teresa, which he had not suggested to them until 
 quite late, when he saw that he would be unable to 
 entrap them into one of the rat-holes that he had 
 previously proposed. The latter had all been re- 
 jected, for one reason or another. 
 
 And if out of a sense of duty he had the house 
 made over to look new, or almost new, it was out of 
 sympathy for the women that he was pleased to 
 behold it resplendent, despite the cheap paint he had 
 used in restoring it, the used tiles with which he 
 had roofed it, the second-hand sewer-covers that 
 had been purchased from a dealer in cast-off wares 
 and used as coverings for mains and drains. 
 
 His liberality did not go a jot beyond the limit, 
 though he asserted the contrary. 
 
 Had he not even gone so far as to swear to 
 Rosaura more than once that he had spent in those 
 repairs far more than he would have done if he were 
 dealing with other persons? Once he even afiirmed 
 that he had committed such extravagant deeds just 
 to please her. As Rosaura was vexed by this re- 
 mark, Irurtia in the future limited himself to dis- 
 playing his disinterestedness and the beauty of the 
 home in laudatory phrases: 
 
 "It's as neat as a silver dish," he would say at 
 times. 
 
 And at others: 
 
228 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "You'll be as comfortable there as cream on milk." 
 
 Irurtia proved to be a false prophet. 
 
 Cast out of their nest, the Agualongas could not 
 accustom themselves to their new dwelling. 
 
 Eufemia, in particular, always sickly and with 
 monastic habits, never going out except to church on 
 Sundays, or to visit some old relative, or to see Olga 
 some morning or other, complained bitterly. 
 
 "I'm stifling between these four walls. It seems 
 that I live in a prison." 
 
 Rosaura and Alcira, both because they were of a 
 more resigned temperament, and because they were 
 younger and suffered from no physical ailments, 
 found it less difficult to habituate themselves to 
 their new surroundings, though not a day passed in 
 which the three women did not miss their old family 
 mansion. Eufemia, while the three spinsters fed 
 upon memories, would shed tears of longing and 
 grief. 
 
 With the intention of dispelling the gloom that 
 had cast its spell over their eldest sister, and at the 
 same time of brightening somewhat their existence, 
 Alcira and Rosaura, on the day following their re- 
 moval, commenced as far as possible to transfornl 
 that "tiny, ugly" house, as Alcira called it. 
 
 The rooms, which they found papered in the worst 
 taste, with absurd decorations and chocolate tints, 
 were papered over again in simple, cheerful colors. 
 
 With no other assist^-nce than that which the 
 simple-minded cook's daughter could lend them, 
 they realized this work all by themselves. Nobody 
 lent a hand, not even Eufemia, who appeared de- 
 termined not so much to live, as to await death. 
 
A HOUSE THAT TORTURES 229 
 
 Afternoons, at first, Olga would come to keep them 
 company; but Olga would under no circumstances 
 smear her hands with paste, nor would she climb the 
 stairs for fear of a dizzy speU, nor would she hammer 
 in a tack for fear of striking her fingers with the 
 hammer. The two sisters, who had no right to fear 
 a blow, or a dizzy speU, or the odor from the paste, 
 went through the house from the portraits of the 
 salon to the mirror in the bath-room. 
 
 And with no other collaborator than the half- 
 witted domestic, both women beautified the house, 
 lovingly imparting ornamental touches. 
 
 And in order to beguile Eufemia's life into less 
 bitterness, the generous souls, in the first place, 
 tried to surround her with recollection of the former 
 household. 
 
 Thus, one of the rooms, despite its restricted area, 
 was arranged just as Eufemia had kept it for almost 
 half a century in the old home : there was the bed in 
 which had died the mother of the Agualongas, and 
 it was made exactly as it had been in the days of the 
 departed; there was the pocket-watch that their 
 father had used when alive, seemingly waiting for its 
 owner to come and place it in his waistcoat; there 
 was the armchair of Cordovan leather, which had be- 
 longed to aunt Hipolita, and in which, helplessly 
 seated in her final days, she had so often descanted 
 upon the early days of the nation. Various souvenirs, 
 of the most diverse character, held alive the memory 
 of some of the family's departed: the father's musket 
 was the weapon with which their brother had acci- 
 dentally shot himself on a hunting expedition; the 
 coffer upon the console table contained the grand- 
 
230 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 mother's jewelry; that ivory crucifix was an heir- 
 loom from their grandmother's mother; this rosary 
 had belonged to a religious of the Holy Land, and 
 the Carmelite aunt had presented it to Eufemia. 
 
 In four or five months the little house seemed an 
 altogether different place. 
 
 In the ' horrible, barren patio they had ditches 
 dug; the ditches, by the work and grace of the 
 humus, the seeds and care, were transformed into 
 rose-bushes of purple, gold and snow-white; into 
 clumps of white Malabar jessamine, into sweet- 
 smelling purple heliotropes, thirsty for the sun. At 
 the rear they placed a vine of heartsease, trans- 
 planted from their former home, and in the shade 
 of this vine, seated in the dining-room, they would 
 pass the hot hours of the day sewing. The windows 
 that faced the little patio were soon festooned with 
 bluebells. In green jars they planted jessamine, 
 which flourished in compact, fragrant little buds, 
 blood-colored geraniums, ruby begonias, hortensias 
 of very delicate blue, and daisies of silver and gold. 
 On the edge of each pot a green wreath, a wreath 
 of tea-leaves surrounded these gold and silver daisies, 
 the celestial hortensias, the rosy begonias, the 
 crimson geraniums and the Arabian jessamine buds. 
 
 Eufemia, with a little indulgence, might have be- 
 held in this new dwelling, if not the counterpart, at 
 least a fair imitation of the ancient manorial home, 
 and might have determined to live without that 
 shadow of sadness which the change had cast over 
 her soul and across her features. 
 
 But it was all in vain; she could not habituate 
 herself to the place. 
 
A HOUSE THAT TORTURES 231 
 
 Almost daily, in her obstinate, annoying manner, 
 she would sing the same song: 
 
 "I'm stifling between these four walls. It seems 
 I'm in a prison." 
 
 As Irurtia continued to visit them persistently 
 after the removal, Rosaura bethought herself of some 
 schemes to get rid of the intrusive fellow. She pro- 
 posed to her sisters a rupture with the old miser, 
 and argued well in its favor: since the exchange of 
 properties was already effected, nobody could now 
 suppose that failure to display patience with the 
 advances of the broker could lead to the frustration 
 of their plans. The Lord knew that she had toler- 
 ated Irurtia only for Olga's sake, for the happiness 
 of her niece and out of deference to her sisters. 
 That Chicharra had called her egotist and a wicked 
 person hurt her very much. How many times had 
 she asked herself: "Can Chicharra, Olga, Eufemia 
 and Alcira be right, after aU?" 
 
 Life was a sort of Purgatory. She believed that 
 implicitly. "Life is Purgatory." She must endure 
 Irurtia, and she suffered him. Now things had 
 changed. They no longer needed the bloodsucker 
 for anjrthing. She could now kick him out into the 
 street. 
 
 Her two sisters were seized with genuine scruples. 
 
 "No, Rosaura," they told her. "Such an opinion 
 is hardly noble, nor even correct. When we needed 
 that man we received him most kindly, and now 
 that he can no longer be of any use to us, we kick 
 him out! No. That's not just." 
 
 Rosaura deplored such reasoning. 
 
 "Not just ! Then what you call just and proper is 
 
232 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 for me to sacrifice myself to an old, odious stranger, 
 to that hairy old lizard, as Olga used to call him. 
 That Caracas should be gossiping about me doesn't 
 matter! That I should be disgusted doesn't mat- 
 ter! That I should be nauseated by the repulsive 
 animal doesn't matter! I must be noble. Very 
 well, then; I can't understand the sort of nobility 
 you preach. It's true that this sermon in Irurtia's 
 favor costs you very Uttle; yet you hardly know 
 him, while you take sides against me, your own 
 sister. The victim, and the only victim, is I." 
 
 "But you're not sacrificing yourself," they argued. 
 "You never receive him alone. We all receive him, 
 and we all suffer equally, and with resignation, if 
 we must suffer. You know very well that the notion 
 of your receiving him alone was not ours, but one of 
 Olga's whims. We agreed to it through fear that 
 Irurtia might clear out, leaving us high and dry and 
 unable to marry off our poor little niece." 
 
 The difficulty was overcome. 
 
 In the future Irurtia would be received by the 
 three sisters, together. 
 
 Olga's absence permitted such an expedient. 
 Liberated from the surveillance, the comments, the 
 wiles and the constant pressure of their niece, the 
 women acted as they saw fit, and believed that they 
 had reached a properly-balanced compromise be- 
 tween the ordinary civility due to Irurtia and a 
 regard for their sister's feelings. 
 
 In the meantime they missed Olga; Rosaura, 
 particularly. The cramped quarters continued to 
 torture the three, especiaiUy Eufemia, 
 
 They were not happy. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE VICTORIOUS GOLD-PIECE 
 
 DON CAMILO evidently took little pleasure in 
 the strategy of the Agualonga sisters. He had 
 already become so accustomed to his evening chats 
 with Rosaura! He could not forego his daily visit. 
 And to be received by the three together signified a 
 retrogression in those sweet relations between him 
 and Rosaura. 
 
 I Alone with a woman a man may speak nonsense; 
 more, the conversation is almost wholly confined 
 to mere trifles. But just these trifles acquire worth 
 because of their intimate character, through the very 
 inflections of the voice, which say more than the 
 voice itself; because being alone transforms you, 
 apparently, at least, and the tete-a-tete, though it 
 turn upon the heat or the rain, assumes a confiden- 
 tial aspect. 
 
 Passion exercised a despotic rule in that virgin 
 heart. That senile affection absorbed all the senti- 
 mental sap of a life which had known no youth, of 
 a youth that had known no love. He was a man 
 of strong passions, and love now dawned in his 
 heart all the more violent because of its tardiness; 
 all his affection for woman that had been kept in 
 store, all this unknown stock of tenderness, all this 
 dry powder, exploded upon being brought close to 
 a beautiful match: two feminine eyes. 
 
 233 
 
234 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Irurtia was urged on by a confused presentiment 
 — a presentiment rather than a conviction — that 
 love would soon be useless to him. Decadence of 
 powers beats its wings when old age comes along the 
 road. 
 
 It is true that in Irurtia the passion for gold 
 dominated every other passion; and when such a 
 passion rules over a being with such power, the other 
 passions disappear, for the first nourishes itself 
 upon the substance of all the rest, which wither and 
 die. But it is none the less true that in Irurtia's 
 oncoming days of revived passion, love had ap- 
 peared, which signifies that there had -existed, in a 
 latent, dormant stage, those carnal appetites which 
 are, at times, fundamentally nothing but unrequited 
 sensitive or voluptuous necessities, and at others, 
 paternal desires, affective needs that demand satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Nature has made these desires almost always im- 
 perious, but even when they are vague, they are 
 inflexible; it is as if the fate of the species depended 
 upon these desires that every man feels in his inner- 
 most being. 
 
 In Irurtia's heart a battle was about to be waged 
 between gold and woman. Which would triumph? 
 
 The continuous reception by the three together 
 meant, in Irurtia's eyes, a decisive moment in his 
 sentimental existence, and his one thought was to 
 steer clear of the danger. He changed his hours. 
 For two or three days he did not come at all. What- 
 ever wiles he employed in this matter were utterly 
 fruitless. The women, when it came to this game, 
 bested him every time. 
 
THE VICTORIOUS GOLD-PIECE 235 
 
 The first afternoon he imagined — for everybody 
 is at bottom vain, even Irurtia — that the three had 
 received him together out of courtesy; their removal 
 to a country-house which had formerly been the 
 property of don Camilo, its aptitude for their needs, 
 their complete satisfaction with the place, the fact 
 that they were just settling down in it, and who 
 knows what else — must have something to do, ac- 
 cording to the broker's reasoning, with his being 
 received by the three together. 
 
 Then it occurred to him that the smallness of the 
 house had something to do with it, and continuing 
 to believe that the house was to blame, he thought : 
 "I should have given them a larger house; it would 
 have meant less money out of my pocket and now 
 I should be enjoying more privacy in my visits." 
 
 Whereupon he exculpated himself with the follow- 
 ing argument: "The hare goes to the best hunts- 
 man." 
 
 Little by little it penetrated the broker's mind 
 that the smallness of the house had nothing to do 
 with the sisters' resolution to receive him together. 
 For it was a resolution: now he could see it clearly. 
 
 And why should the Agualongas have determined 
 to act as they were acting? Irurtia could find no 
 explanation. He had always been faultlessly cor- 
 rect in his attitude toward Rosaura; and on her side, 
 she had not countenanced the slightest departure 
 from rigid convention. She was so fierce in her 
 gentleness! Could Olga's wicked hand be secretly 
 concerned in this? He dismissed the thought as ab- 
 surd. Who had been as sweet of tongue in the old 
 Agualonga's home? Olga had looked most favor- 
 
236 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ably upon his relations with Rosaura, if, indeed, she 
 had not fostered them altogether. 
 
 Well, then? . . . 
 
 By dint of all this debating, moving from induc- 
 tion to induction, Irurtia concluded or deduced the 
 following: they were purposely provoking him, so 
 as to force him to speak of marriage, since during 
 the time of his intimate conversations with Rosaura 
 he had never done so. 
 
 "It's my money they're after," he thought. "Very 
 well. They won't get it." They looked like three 
 flies, yet they were really three leeches. So they 
 were after his money, were they? They had 
 knocked at the wrong door. Irurtia's money, 
 gathered with such hard effort, during so many 
 years of privations, wasn't going to belong to the 
 first comer. As long as Irurtia drew breath, he'd 
 know how to defend it. 
 
 A confused idea of fraud and ruin agitates don 
 Camilo's mind. The contemplation of such a horror 
 sends an icy shiver up his spine and makes his hair 
 stand on end. "I prefer death," he repeats to him- 
 self. "Sooner death a hundred times, than lose my 
 fortune." 
 
 On a certain night, just as he was about to retire, 
 these thoughts struck him with particular force. 
 Terrified, he resolved to break with the Agualongas 
 and never visit them again. Only those accursed 
 burglars of some years previous had caused him a 
 feeling of terror at all comparable to what he now 
 felt at thought of the Agualongas. What a narrow 
 escape! 
 
 For a week he did not give even a thought to the 
 
THE VICTORIOUS GOLD-PIECE 237 
 
 worthless trio, except to consider them with that 
 retrospective horror of the person who has mirac- 
 ulously escaped alive from some train collision. 
 
 Rosaura's image fluttered about his mind. He 
 would shut his eyes — as if with his eyes closed he 
 could not see her — in a heroic effort to banish her 
 from his spirit. The pretending adventuress! The 
 deceiver ! 
 
 In Irurtia's mind the three sisters were blended in 
 the same sentiment of horror and repulsion. 
 
 As time went on and he continued to go over the 
 matter in his mind, he gradually began to apportion 
 responsibility. Which of the three deserved the 
 most scorn and inspired the deepest hatred? Once 
 again there appeared before Irurtia's mental vision 
 the image of Rosaura, heightened by mistrust and 
 fear. Before those timid, bovine eyes — before that 
 glance of melancholy tenderness, that charm which 
 rose from her full lips, that duU-lustered, amber 
 skin, that oval mole — before the Rosaura of his 
 thoughts, a ripe, exquisite autumn fruit, don 
 Camilo was seized with doubts. Could Rosaura be 
 as culpable as the others? No. It was impossible. 
 He made distinctions: "An accomplice, perhaps; 
 chief conspirator, never." She, so gracious, so 
 gentle, so pretty, so noble ! Don Camilo recalled his 
 own observations upon Rosaura's inexhaustible 
 kindness. No. It was impossible. How could he 
 have entertained the thought even for a minute! 
 How base of him! 
 
 And even the thought of her complicity was grad- 
 ually thrust aside as he thought of Rosaura's ingenu- 
 ous gentleness and her moral beauty. 
 
238 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 And at last he was thoroughly convinced that 
 Rosaura — "the tool of her two sisters," — was not 
 in the slightest to blame. 
 
 He concentrated all his hatred upon Eufemia and 
 Alcira. If he could only free the victim from their 
 clutches! But no, he was not made to be a re- 
 deemer. Redeemers die upon the cross. Let every- 
 body take care of himself as best he can. 
 
 It was now thirteen afternoons since Irurtia had 
 last visited the Agualongas; since his tacit break 
 with Rosaura. 
 
 Thirteen afternoons: a century! 
 
 It was with this thought that don Canulo, at dusk, 
 arrived at his home. While Tomasa prepared the 
 meal, the money-lender sat down in the diminutive 
 corridor without lighting the lamp. 
 
 From the dark heavens, where the moon shone 
 like a presentiment, there fell into the tiny patio a 
 clear shadow — an almost transparent shadow — 
 a shadow that permitted one to see two or three 
 metres into the darkness, though not distinctly. 
 
 A semi-obscurity most propitious to meditation! 
 Don Camilo recalled that formerly he used to re- 
 turn to his house at precisely this hour; but at that 
 time he invariably came back, from Rosaura's home, 
 his soul enwrapped in the haze of love. 
 
 He understood that this recollection now came to 
 him because he missed those visits. And if he 
 missed the visits it was because they gave him 
 pleasure. Well, then — what had compelled him to 
 eradicate that pleasure from his life — that pleasure 
 which did not cost him even a cent? He could give 
 himself no clear reply. Was it that they wished to 
 
THE VICTORIOUS GOLD-PIECE 239 
 
 rob him? But who had said they wished to rob 
 him? That the three received him together, and 
 that such a reception was in reality a sinister at- 
 tempt to force him into asking Rosaura's hand? 
 But if he did not ask Rosaura's hand, those poor 
 women, even if they were multiplied by twenty, 
 even if they summoned all the saints of heaven to 
 their assistance, as well as every terrestrial power, 
 could not compel hini to propose. Marriage was 
 not compulsory in Venezuela, and it was in Vene- 
 zuela that he lived. 
 
 He laughed at his former fears. It seemed im- 
 possible that he could have yielded to such an 
 absurd notion. It seemed to him even less possible 
 that he, Irurtia, a practical man, to whom two and 
 two were four, and who didn't mistake a glass of 
 water for the ocean, should have denied himself a 
 real pleasure, a pleasure that did not cost anything, 
 one of the few amenities of his existence. . . . And 
 for what reason? Because of an absurd notion, a 
 mere supposition, a chimera. 
 
 Which was to say that he, Irurtia, a practical man, 
 had suppressed a genuine thing, a real thing, for 
 less than a shadow, for something that really did 
 not exist, for nothing at all. He could not explain 
 it. "I must be getting old; my mind must be com- 
 mencing to weaken; can I no longer be the same?" 
 he asked himself, 
 
 Man of figures and mathematical precision that 
 he was, don Camilo, in order to put himself to the 
 test, formulated the following query: "Between 
 Rosaura and my fortune, which do I prefer?" 
 
 The problem, as propounded, did not seem very 
 
240 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 clear to him, so he put it in another way. He 
 thought of Rosaura's mouth, of her arms, of the 
 breasts which he could divine — firm, warm, curved, 
 fragrant — beneath her flimsy muslin waists, and 
 which impressed him so deeply. He imagined that 
 those full lips of Rosaura were already pressing his 
 own in the eagerness of a kiss; that those arms were 
 around his neck; that those resilient breasts were 
 playfully stroking his face, his chest, and dancing 
 between his hands. Rosaura possessed, Rosaura his 
 very own! Good God, the sensation was divine — 
 such as he had never experienced before. ... He 
 remained in meditation. . . . Rosaura's image 
 flared up in Irurtia's brain. From out of the 
 shadows of the little patio Irurtia beheld issue an 
 immense balance. Rosaura fell into one of the 
 plates of the scales. Into the other plate he imagined 
 that he heaped one house after the other that he 
 owned. But this was not very clear. The plate 
 could not hold a single house; how then pile on so 
 many? Then, by a magic stroke of the imagination, 
 he transformed the houses into gold. Now the 
 affair was clear and exact. Into one of the plates 
 there began to fall sacks filled with gold. And the 
 scales inclined in the direction of the sacks of gold. 
 
 Irurtia now understood that he was saved ; that he 
 was proof against temptation, master of himself, 
 the same Irurtia as ever. No, no. And to think 
 that he had imagined himself growing senile! 
 
 Then, the better to prove his strength, his forti- 
 tude, his self-control, his former self, he began to 
 remove sacks of gold from one plate, while Rosaura, 
 whom he loved, remained wavering in the other. 
 
THE VICTORIOUS GOLD-PIECE 241 
 
 He removed one, two; he removed twenty: and still 
 the plate with the sacks of gold weighed more than 
 that containing Rosaura! 
 
 At last there remained but a single sack of gold 
 on one side, and on the other, Rosaura. And 
 Rosaura weighed less than the sack. 
 
 Then Irurtia began to extract single gold ounces 
 from the last sack. The sack, with the few gold 
 pieces that remained, weighed more than Rosaura. 
 He continued to take out one gold-piece after the 
 other: the scales did not balance evenly. 
 
 At last there remained but a single ounce of gold, 
 clean and shining, in one of the plates. That ounce 
 of gold weighed more than Rosaura. 
 
 A voice woke him from this dream of money and 
 love. The meal was ready and Tomasa was calling 
 him to eat. > 
 
IV 
 ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 
 
 GENERAL CHICHARRA was one evening 
 gathered with his family in the drawing-room 
 when, at about ten o'clock, there was a knock at the 
 street-door. It was a policeman. The officer handed 
 a letter to the head of the house and left. 
 
 A corner of the envelope displayed the national 
 coat-of-arms, and under the shield was printed: 
 From the President of the Republic. 
 
 Chicharra became nervous and swelled with pride 
 to be holding a letter from the President of the 
 Republic. His emotion sent his blood surging, if 
 not to his head, to the tip of his nose, and Aquiles' 
 nasal appendage began to turn crimson. 
 
 Tearing open the envelope, Chicharra ran through 
 the note in a second; and already having gathered 
 the contents by sight, he began to read in a loud, 
 clear, very audible voice, surrounded by the silent, 
 eager attention of his family. 
 
 My dear friend: 
 
 Tomorrow at seven a.m. we leave on 
 a trip through the Aragua valleys. Would 
 you care to join our party? There will 
 be cock fights at Maracay, dances at La 
 Victoria, bull-fighting at Turmero, an ex- 
 cursion to the lake of Tacarigua. We shall 
 
 242 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 243 
 
 return within six or seven days. It will be 
 a joyous holiday. Should you decide to 
 come along, remember: be at the station 
 tomorrow morning at seven. 
 
 What an outburst of joy in that household! 
 
 "The President is a most charming gentleman," 
 said Aquiles' wife. 
 
 "Charming," repeated Tula, the eldest of the 
 children. "And he's such an excellent dancer." 
 
 But Chicharra's exclamation drowned out every 
 other remark: 
 
 "And how highly he esteems me! Can't you see 
 what a high opinion he entertains of me? He 
 couldn't be more affectionate to his own brother. 
 I vow that there aren't three persons to whom our 
 Chief Executive writes in his own handwriting a 
 letter such as this." 
 
 "How he has changed toward you," ventured his 
 wife. 
 
 Chicharra launched upon a series of eulogies. 
 His family listened with sincere ' admiration and 
 with mouths agape to this illustrious man, to whom 
 the President' wrote in his own handwriting and 
 whose company the Chief Executive desired. 
 
 "Changed toward me? I should say he has! All 
 I needed was a chance to get him alone and exchange 
 a few words. The President appreciates merit and 
 knows men. My enemies, fearing the influence that 
 I might acquire over him, closed the door to me. 
 They wouldn't let me get near to the President. 
 They held him as if surrounded by a wall of iron. 
 Not even my letters reached him: that's why I never 
 
244 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 got any reply. Not even my most important polit- 
 ical manifestations were heeded: the congratula- 
 tions in the press on the banquet given to him on 
 his birthday — that magnificent Liberal movement 
 that I conceived and headed . . . 
 
 One of his younget daughters interrupted him: 
 
 "But your plan for a special baU won him 
 around!" 
 
 Chicharra smiled; the whole family smiled at the 
 recollection. That had been a stroke worthy of a 
 Machiavelli — one of those ideas that rarely crosses 
 the mind of a statesman. 
 
 "Maybe I don't know a thing or two about poli- 
 tics!" exclaimed Chicharra, more than ever satis- 
 fied with himself. 
 
 And indeed, Chicharra should have been very 
 well acquainted with Venezuelan politics, sincfe, be- 
 ing as slight and Sancho-like in spirit as in excel- 
 lence, he always floated like a cork on the waters 
 of the parties. And here he was now, congratulating 
 himself upon the favor of the President, who could 
 not bear the sight of him. 
 
 The recent ball had worked the miracle. 
 
 Never had the lascivious dance-maniac enjoyed 
 himself better, to the sound of music, than on the 
 night of Chicharra's ball, amid so many soft 
 shoulders, so many half-nude bosoms, and so great 
 an odor de femina, such a perfume of elegant women. 
 
 Those who took part in the famous quadrille were 
 especially selected, and the oldest of them was Tula 
 Chicharra, who was twenty-one or twenty-two at 
 the most. The goat-footed dancer thought he would 
 swoon against the firm, snowy flesh of Olga. At the 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 245 
 
 climactic moment of the figure, Olga breathed into 
 his mouth, gazed into his eyes, and worked her 
 charms upon him. 
 
 The libidinous creature felt the tempting flesh 
 against his body, from his knees to his chest; against 
 his right thigh he felt the contact of other women's 
 legs; against his left, the warmth of other hips; at 
 his back, the pressure of other perfumed curves; all 
 around him, virginal bosoms. ... He thought he 
 would go mad. Never had he experienced such a 
 sensation of elegance, voluptuousness, music and 
 love. 
 
 It had cost Chicharra much labor indeed to find 
 maidens to take part in the complicated and bold 
 dance of his invention. At last, three of his daugh- 
 ters, Olga, and several daughters of those noble 
 liberals who aspired to public ofiice and had signed 
 the manifesto of loyalty, accepted. But not all the 
 liberals accepted. There were some who fretted and 
 fumed, and one went so far as to cry that his daugh- 
 ters weren't professional bacchantes, nor morsels for 
 fauns, nor food for lewd men, and that Aquiles was 
 a shameless wretch. 
 
 What trouble was caused for Chicharra by the 
 mere divulgation of his ideas ! Who could have been 
 the tactless person to have let the plan slip out? 
 Perhaps Rata — thought Chicharra to himself — in 
 order to let folks see that he was in touch with 
 social secrets, just to give himself airs. 
 
 At any rate, before the date of the ball Chicharra 
 was showered with scorn. He even began to fear 
 that none of the invited guests would appear, and 
 surely enough there were more elderly men and 
 
246 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 women than members of the younger social set. 
 Very few men brought their families. The men 
 came alone, offering excuses: "My wife's been ill for 
 two days." Or: "My daughter, at the very last 
 moment, was seized with a violent headache." The 
 families of other men had gone to Macuto. Each 
 one, as he entered presented an excuse similar to 
 that just given, if, indeed, not an identical 
 one. This roused laughter, and Aquiles, somewhat 
 abashed, thought: "They're all a rabble with little 
 imagination." 
 
 But the outcome of the feast compensated him for 
 all his efforts. How joyous the President was! 
 
 That night Chicharra's star began to shine. The 
 official procurers paled with envy. The inventor 
 of that marvellous quadrille was overriding them 
 all. 
 
 Now the President was going on a trip through 
 the Aragua valleys, and wished Aquiles to accom- 
 pany him. Who was there better fitted to direct the 
 quadrille he had invented in the balls that would 
 take place on the road ! It was very frequently that 
 the President went on what might be called these 
 excursions, or pleasure tours. 
 
 No sooner had he read the presidential note than 
 Aquiles Chicharra understood what was desired of 
 him and why he was invited. He was in the seventh 
 heaven of delight, knowing that out of these pander- 
 ings and intimacies arose ministers, sectional presi- 
 dents, customs chiefs, and all the personages of the 
 administration. 
 
 Chicharra gave orders to prepare his valise at once. 
 And while this was being attended to he began 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 247 
 
 to meditate in a pose that should impress the family; 
 that is to say, with his head in his hands. 
 
 La Victoria was, in the President's tours, the cen- 
 ter of the Saturnalia, and it was in this important 
 center of politics, in this capital of vice, in this nest 
 of degradation (not with reference to the people 
 itself, alien to all this vice, and the victim of the 
 ruffians, but referring to the satrap of that satrapy) 
 that Chicharra was to fight it out with the monopo- 
 list of the bacchantes, the chief of pimps, Fran- 
 cisco Linares Alcantara, hermaphrodite and thug, 
 elevated to the category of highest authority in the 
 state of Aragua. 
 
 He prepared in advance for the contest. He 
 would fight. One contest more or less meant nothing 
 to him. He was a fighter. 
 
 Francisco Linares Alcantara, or, as he was always 
 called, Alcantarilla, had been informed by telephone 
 from Caracas, as soon as the train left the station, 
 just who comprised the party. 
 
 No sooner had he heard the name of Chicharra, 
 which, since the night of the ball, had been very 
 much mentioned and spread by the President's co- 
 hort of intimates and lickspittles, than the eunuch's 
 face altered color. A rival had entered the arena. 
 Happily this struggle of influences and skirts was 
 to be waged on territory that he knew better than 
 the adversary. Against wind and tide he would 
 preserve his position as the first, most celebrated and 
 best equipped of all panderers. 
 
 Not for nothing was he the chief authority in 
 Aragua, having at his disposal in La Victoria (in 
 addition to his own court of minions for his personal 
 
248 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 use, who did anything to give him pleasure) that 
 other band of procurers who recognized him as 
 their head and protector — the band to whom the 
 President of the Republic owed so many an exquis- 
 ite morsel, and to whom he himself, Alcantarilla, 
 was indebted for such great prestige and influence. 
 
 Fortunately an excellent bit of prey had already 
 been held in waiting for the faun of this occasion, 
 even before Alcantara had been informed of Chic- 
 harra's early arrival. 
 
 The victim was a country girl, as fresh and beauti- 
 ful as a mayflower. Alcantarilla placed great hopes 
 in her. 
 
 It was about twelve when the President arrived 
 at La Victoria. 
 
 He desired to take a bath before lunch and they 
 prepared him a bath containing more cologne water 
 than ordinary water. Alcantarilla, doing every- 
 thing in lavish manner, spared no expense. He 
 was resolved to eclipse Chicharra. 
 
 After lunch the President went for a nap to the 
 rooms on the first floor, accompanied by Alcantarilla 
 and three cronies. There he threw himself into a 
 hammock; while he rested, Alcantarilla set about 
 to rouse the concupiscence and the curiosity of the 
 salacious personage by indirect hints. 
 
 "My general," he began, "there are Moors off the 
 coast." 
 
 Another of those present added: 
 
 "The President will smack his lips with pleasure." 
 
 The faun cocked his ear, and asked : 
 
 "Very young?" 
 
 "Of course. The kind you like." 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 249 
 
 "Brunette?" 
 
 "A beauty." 
 
 "TaU, slender? Plump, short?" 
 
 "Tall and strong; looks like a regular tower. 
 Figure, neck, arms and hips of the most entrancing 
 sort." 
 
 "In other words, a bocato di cardenalef" 
 
 "Yes sir; a cardinal's morsel." 
 
 The President feigned anger: 
 
 "Then what the deuce do you mean by not bring- 
 ing her to me?" 
 
 Alcantarilla replied emphatically: 
 
 "No, no, my general. Even though you com- 
 mand me^ -Itjwill^be'the^rst <inie that I disobey 
 you; but I will disobey. Tell me^to throw myself 
 over the balcony, and I'll do so. "Tell me to cut off 
 vnf mother's head, and I'll cut it off. But don't 
 tell me to bring the girl now, for I wilkjiot do it. 
 You have just had your lunch." 
 
 "That's a mere trifle, Panchito." 
 
 "No, my President. Not in your case. I, Pedro, 
 Juan or any other common fellow may go horse- 
 back riding after meals: it doesn't matter. But 
 not you." 
 
 Ano|ther of the cronies made the matter clearer: 
 
 "It's true: your health. General, belongs to the 
 country." 
 
 And another, still more vile, urged the • point 
 further: 
 
 "Your health is even more important than the 
 health of the nation." ^* 
 
 IS Historical fact. Heard by the author of these pages, at| 
 La Victoria, from the lips of Senator Manuel M. Azpurua, 
 brother-in-law of Alcantarilla. 
 
250 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Alcantarilla, who did not wish to be outdone, 
 said: 
 
 "After God, it's I who watch over your life." 
 
 At this juncture voices were heard at the bottom 
 of the staircase. 
 
 It was Chicharra who wished to go up to the 
 President's room. A porter, stationed there by Al- 
 cantarilla with express orders not to let him pass, 
 was barring his way. 
 
 Alcantarilla looked out of a window to see what 
 was taking place; he took advantage of the oppor- 
 tunity to send a poisoned arrow in the direction of 
 his rival: 
 
 "It's nothing; merely Chicharra disputing with a 
 servant." 
 
 And after a second he added: 
 
 "The poor fellow is so vainglorious! Once, when 
 he was a minister, he had to be silenced and cast 
 aside because he was felling everybody that he was 
 directing the affairs of the nation, in proof of which 
 he divulged state secrets. 
 
 The President smiled. 
 
 Alcantarilla could not very well tell whether the 
 smile condemned Chicharra or not. He had just 
 sown a seed of mistrust and discredit; but it was 
 not enough, and he added, as if to sound the atti- 
 tude of the omnipotent executive: 
 
 "After all, Chicharra is an excellent Liberal and 
 a magnificent chap." 
 
 "The President not wishing to commit himself, 
 kept on smoking and his head swayed from side to 
 side; he neither assented nor denied. Then, in a 
 benevolent mood, he said : 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 251 
 
 "He's a good fellow." 
 
 "A confession," thought Alcantarilla. "He doesn't 
 esteem Chicharra very highly yet, but he's beginning 
 to. He doesn't .count him for as much, though, as 
 I feared he did. That clay figure must be smashed 
 as far as the President is concerned." 
 
 The latter, swaying gently to and fro in the ham- 
 mock, now quite drowsy, insisted: 
 
 "Chicharra — a general without any campaigns. 
 But a fine fellow. The quadrille he invented simply 
 could not be improved upon." 
 
 Alcantarilla, without appearing to do so, 
 cast a furtive eye in the President's direction. He 
 drank, rather than heard, the excutive's words; and 
 he weighed, by half-drachms, as in a pharmacist's 
 balance, every gesture of the magistrate — every 
 glance, and even the inflexions of his voice. He 
 was now sure of his opinion. Chicharra was not so 
 much to be feared as he had at first imagined; but 
 it would be well to get him safely out of the way. 
 An unscrupulous rascal beside a vicious degenerate 
 is always a danger. 
 
 In the most natural manner in the world, he said: 
 
 "You are right, my General, Chicharra is an excel- 
 lent person. As a family man there's none better. 
 In his house they adore him. And he's as service- 
 able as he is respectful to all the presidents. That's 
 why I am all the more surprised that he should make 
 such a noise, almost starting a scandal, while you're 
 here and knowing as he does that you've retired for 
 an afternoon nap." 
 
 The man in the hammock yawned. He was 
 sleepy. His intimates prepared to leave. Alcantar 
 
252 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 rilla himself drew the curtains to and shut the blinds. 
 The room was plunged into semi-obscurity. The 
 President closed his eyes. 
 
 A moment after he had left, Alcantarilll,, turning 
 back from the staircase, entered the room anew and 
 announced : 
 
 "General Chicharra desires to come up. Shall I 
 tell him to enter?" 
 
 "No, not now," replied the President, yawning. ' 
 
 "He insists, my General." 
 
 "Let him not be a boresome fool." 
 
 After his siesta, at about five, the President went 
 out for a jaunt on horseback. 
 
 A bull-fight had been arranged in his honor. Al- 
 though he himself did not. practise felling bulls by 
 twisting their tails, he always enjoyed the sight of 
 men on horseback pursuing the bull and throwing 
 him to the ground by this method ... if they 
 could. At times the bull turned on them furiously. 
 What a whirlwind of horses and riders there was 
 then! "It's a very characteristic game of ours," the 
 President would say. "That's why I'm so fond of 
 it." 
 
 When, at dusk, he returned from the bull festi- 
 val and penetrated into his rooms, he was greeted 
 with a surprise. There was a woman inside. 
 
 He approached resolutely, and questioned her 
 with the greatest tenderness. He understood: it 
 was Alcantarilla's surprise. 
 
 He surveyed her. Tall, strong, proud, attractive, 
 of rustic beauty, this poor peasant girl, all dressed 
 up for the occasion, not knowing what she had been 
 brought thither for, or what she was to do, inspired 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 253 
 
 him more with pity than desire. He asked, affec- 
 tionately: 
 
 "What'^s your name?" 
 
 She replied: 
 
 "Maria-Juana Gonzalez. And yours?" 
 
 The President could not restrain his smile; ap- 
 proaching the girl he said, as his only reply: 
 
 "You're very pretty." 
 
 Now it was she who smUed in her turn, although 
 she did not know just what the whole business 
 meant. Why had they put her into this man's 
 rooms? 
 
 Having now approached close to the maiden, the 
 President took the hberty of stroking her cheeks 
 with his right hand, almost paternally. The girl 
 pushed him away; but he was able to note that her 
 skin, though not quite soft, was agreeable to the 
 touch, with the freshness of a mountain palmetto 
 of eighteen to twenty years. And he thought: 
 "What kind of breasts has she got?" In order to 
 find out, he drew closer still, and more skUfuUy than 
 at first, slid his hand along her body; the mountain 
 maiden, however, drawing herself erect, gave him a 
 powerful shove. 
 
 Now angered, he tried to dominate her and rushed 
 upon her. The girl, terrified, raised a shout and 
 began to run hither and thither about the room, 
 trying to reach the door and escape her pursuer. 
 
 Nobody answered her cries, nobody came to her 
 aid. In the meantime this man continued to pur- 
 sue her. 
 
 Hounded like a wild beast in the arena, backed 
 into a corner, the peasant-girl instinctively stretched 
 
254 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 forth her hand in search of something with which 
 to defend herself, and seizing a cane, the property 
 of the President himself, she belabored the satjr 
 with two or three resounding blows. 
 
 The blood began to flow from the bald presidential 
 pate, streaking his skull, his forehead, his mustache 
 and his beard. The impetus of the persecution 
 ceased as by a charm. The peasant-maiden took 
 advantage of the truce and fled toward the door. 
 
 At last the cronies arrived. The President, badly 
 bruised and confused, began to wash his wound. 
 
 When Alcantarilla appeared, the satyr reproved 
 him: 
 
 "That's no woman ; that's a wild bull." 
 
 Chicharra himself took charge of washing the 
 wound, ordering in desperate tones: 
 
 "Fetch balsam, perchloride of iron, lint, a doctor, 
 ten doctors ..." 
 
 Some ran downstairs, others rummaged through 
 the drawers, as if the dressing-table were an apothe- 
 cary shop. Above all the confusion could be heard 
 Chicharra's anxious voice: 
 
 "A doctor. At once! Fetch a doctor!" 
 
 The President, without a word, retired to his 
 hammock. His silence was aglow with lightning 
 flashes. 
 
 Alcantarilla felt sad and humiliated, conquered. 
 He had thought that beast of a woman an angel. 
 They had deceived him; but they'd hear from him. 
 He'd teach them manners and raise a rumpus. 
 
 Chicharra intervened : 
 
 "No. Don't do anything like that. It would 
 have an unfavorable effect upon our President's 
 
ARDENT DEMOCRATIC CONTESTS 255 
 
 cause. And I am sure that your intention is quite 
 the opposite. But we must take care, ever so much 
 care — more care than is taken here with the Chief 
 of the nation. It won't do to shut him into a room 
 with the first woman that happens along." 
 
 "I was remiss in my duty," confessed Alcantarilla. 
 "My duty was to remain at the door, awaiting re- 
 sults." 
 
 "That's what I would have done," assured Chi- 
 charra. v 
 
 They spoke in loud, coarse tones, so that the 
 wounded man should hear them from the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 On the following day Andres Rata's officious sheet 
 published a long telegram from Aquiles Chicharra. 
 Here it was reported that the President had been 
 attacked by a madwoman during a charitable visit 
 to her. He had escaped with his life only by a 
 miracle. 
 
 Chicharra sent another despatch which Andres 
 Rata likewise inserted, with appropriate comment. 
 This second telegram was directed to the Arch- 
 bishop of Caracas, urging him to sing a Te Deum as 
 ( a mark of gratitude to the Almighty for having pre- 
 served the existence of so illustrious and well-deserv- 
 ing a governor. 
 
 Below the second telegram Andres Rata placed 
 the Archbishop's reply. 
 
 On the following Sunday, to add to the solemnity, 
 the Te Deum would take place. Would that God 
 ever preserved, with such patent favor as on the 
 present occasion, the life of the glorious magistrate, 
 of the model president, of that hero endowed with 
 
256 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 so many signal public and private virtues. The 
 Lord protects the righteous. 
 
 Nothing more was needed. From all points of 
 the republic there began to pour in at once, signed 
 by Chicharras and Alcantaras of the provinces, con- 
 gratulations to the President upon his lucky escape 
 "through the visible protection of Providence." 
 These despatches were published for week after week 
 by Andres Rata in his newspaper. 
 
 In every church of the republic the Te Deum was 
 sung. 
 
 Days afterward, having returned to Caracas, 
 Aquiles Chicharra went to visit the chief magistrate ; 
 he spoke to him of the great movement of popular 
 opinion that had been so skilfully manipulated, and 
 concluded by affirming his allegiance in the follow- 
 ing terms: 
 
 "Actions speak louder than words," my Presi- 
 dent." 
 
 The magistrate replied : 
 
 "Don't imagine that I'll forget this. Inside of 
 two weeks you'll be a minister. But don't breathe 
 a word of it to anybody." 
 
 18 The original here reads Obras sen amores, which is the first 
 part of the proverb, Obras son amores, que no buenas razones. 
 The implication, like that of the English proverb used in the 
 present text, is, of course, that deeds are more substantial than 
 fine talk. 
 
V 
 
 CIRILO IN TROUBLE 
 
 CIRILO MATAMOROS in prison! Who could 
 ever believe it! Yet it was so. 
 
 Two gendarmes came to his native Chacao to 
 hunt him up, and pulled him out of his humble 
 home. Out of the pulperia came Cirilo between the 
 two oflGicers, headed for La Rotunda, or Caracas's 
 prison. 
 
 Cirilo Matamoros, the peon's healer, the bene- 
 factor of the poor, that Providence of the desti- 
 tute and the ailing — what had he committed to 
 deserve the privations of the cell and iron clutch of 
 the State about his throat? 
 
 Nothing; or, more properly stated, he had done 
 what he had been doing up to then, conscientiously 
 and patiently, for everybody: practise his medicine. 
 And it was this practising of medicine that had, at 
 the moment least expected, led him to jail. 
 
 It was aU don Camilo's fault. At least, that was 
 what Matamoros really believed in his heart,^ and so 
 Olga assured him. 
 
 After his tacit break with Rosaura, after that 
 long interval during which he did not visit the sis- 
 ters, don Camilo returned — how could he help him- 
 self? — to the home of the Agualongas. 
 
 He was sure of himself. Let the three of them 
 receive him together; let a thousand receive him; 
 
 257 
 
258 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 let them riddle him with darts; let them drive him 
 between the sword and the wall. ... All would 
 be useless; it would all be only a waste of time and 
 effort. Don Camilo was sure of himself. He would 
 do only what he meant and cared to do. He was 
 stronger than love. 
 
 As an excuse for re-establishing relations and re- 
 suming his former visits he seized upon a piece of 
 bad news: Eufemia, some days before, had been 
 forced to take to bed. 
 
 Don Camilo found a large assembly of old folks 
 in the Agualonga home; the greater number of these 
 he did not know even by name. He was introduced ; 
 but Irurtia, awkward and timid, felt ill at ease 
 among these old women, some of them grave, and 
 after some twenty minutes, he bid adieu and left. 
 
 He had come solely to inquire about dona Eu- 
 femia's health. He had learned of her illness only 
 by accident. Andres Rata, whom he had met in the 
 street the previous evening, had told him the news. 
 As he was much concerned, he would return. 
 
 Two afternoons later he indeed returned. 
 
 He was surprised to find a larger number of old 
 women than the first time, and among them, like 
 verdant isles in a gray sea, like an oasis amidst a 
 sandy desert, various young women. There were 
 also a few gentlemen. 
 
 Why all these persons? He soon discovered. 
 Eufemia had not improved. Her stomach, her 
 hypochondria, old age; a complication of years, 
 physical misery, mental vexations and chronic dys- 
 pepsia had prostrated her and was now getting the 
 best of her. Poor Eufemia! Her sisters swore that 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 259 
 
 it was all due to her grief upon having left the old 
 manorial dwelling. Ever since the removal she had 
 stopped eating: days had passed without her taking 
 more than a soft-boiled egg — she had not ceased 
 to suffer, spending night after night in tears — she 
 had not cared to speak to anybody, having refused 
 to stir from her room and resisted all efforts to get 
 her to say a few words. Poor Eufemia! 
 
 Early in the evening of that day Irurtia returned 
 to the Agualonga home. 
 
 Andres Rata, catching sight of him, approached 
 him solicitously, and don Camilo felt happy to meet 
 somebody with whom he could exchange a few 
 words, among so many persons whom he knew very 
 little or not at all. 
 
 "Is she very seriously ill?" he asked the youth. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, don Camilo. That old woman has 
 packed her valise for the long trip and there's no- 
 body can detain her now." 
 
 "Too bad!" 
 
 "What do you mean, 'too bad'? She's lived long 
 enough. To lead an existence such as hers is ridicu- 
 lous: weep, pray, barely eat, hardly say a word. 
 What's the use of living under such conditions?" 
 
 At this moment Rosaura entered from an adjoin- 
 ing room, her eyes red wiih weeping. 
 
 Andres Rata went over to her: 
 
 "Come and greet don Camilo for an instant." 
 
 "I can't now," she replied. "I'm going for some 
 medicine." 
 
 Then Rata, almost holding her back, nodded to 
 Irurtia. The latter approached, very solicitously. 
 How badly he felt that the patient should not be 
 
260 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 rapidly improving! And how it grieved him to see 
 Rosaura suffering so ! The old man's sincerity was 
 evident in his very tones, 
 
 "Thank you ever so much, don Camilo. I know 
 that you've called several times. Now permit me 
 to leave you for a moment. I'm going for medicine." 
 
 She left without another word. ... A minute 
 later she returned, with a flask in her hand. 
 
 Irurtia and Rata stopped her again. 
 
 An idea had suddenly flashed upon don Camilo, 
 and he told it to Rosaura, not without hesitation and 
 fear of a brusk repulse: Why did they not get 
 Cirilo Matamoros to prescribe for the sick woman? 
 
 He had to explain who Matamoros was. Irurtia 
 assured her that he himself had blind confidence in 
 the man — an absolute confidence in the mestee's 
 skill and lore. That fellow realized miraculous 
 cures. He himself had seen the doctor stop a hemor- 
 rhage by means of an aporo wash and an external 
 application of herbs — all in less than a quarter of 
 an hour. In any event, since all the medicine given 
 her up to now had proved of no avail to Eufemia, 
 and as the physicians could not get her out of bed, 
 what would be lost in consulting Matamoros? 
 
 The idea seemed absurd to Rosaura. Not wishing 
 to hurt don Camilo she sought some subterfuge to 
 soften her refusal, and said: 
 
 "Your idea is excellent; but I'm afraid it can't 
 be done. You know what doctors are like; you 
 know their professional jealousy and how peevish 
 they can be in such matters. We can't offend our 
 physician, who has been with us for many years." 
 
 Irurtia did not insist; but Andres Rata, in order 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 261 
 
 to flatter don Camilo, expressed the belief that the 
 idea was not only excellent, but easily practicable: 
 
 "If the family is agreeable," he offered, "I'll see 
 to putting it thrbugh. You can' easily offer the 
 physician some excuse or other, and that will be 
 sufficient. We needn't drown in a glass of water." 
 
 Rosaura, in order to escape the issue, hastened to 
 leave, assuring the men that her opinions were of 
 no value. 
 
 "Rather consult Alcira and Olga," she added. 
 
 It was very easy for don Camilo to satisfy Olga, 
 and to convince the family. Matamoros was sent 
 for. 
 
 The following morning Cirilo arrived, examined 
 the sick woman, returned to Chacao and prepared a 
 potion. That afternoon they gave the beverage to 
 Eufemia, That very night Eufemia died. 
 
 The regular physician, behind whose back Mata- 
 moros had been brought in, no sooner learned of this 
 secret treatment than he foamed with rage and with 
 fury, despite his patriarchal years, which did not 
 seem to permit Of such a venting of vanity or such 
 a free rein to anger. To think that he had been set 
 aside for a vile quack! It was impossible to tolerate 
 such an enormous insult! And to make matters 
 worse, the barbarian had killed the woman, who was 
 already on the road to recovery. 
 
 The infuriated Galen addressed a convincing and 
 peremptory communication to the Academy of 
 Medicine, concerning the quack of Chacao. What 
 a list of charges! Besides having for a long time 
 past practised medicine illegally, to the scandal of 
 science and the disgrace of the medical profession, 
 
262 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Matamoros could this time be convicted of homi- 
 cide through sheer ignorance in the case of Eufemia 
 Agualonga. 
 
 The Academy of Medicine, aroused and zealous in 
 defence of its field, celebrated a solemn session, and 
 that solemn session resulted in an official complaint 
 of the Academy against Matamoros, the arrest of 
 the latter by the civil authorities, and his being 
 placed on trial. 
 
 The matter caused a great scandal. Cirilo's pic- 
 ture appeared in the papers; his life and the tale of 
 his wonderful cures was related, and into the account 
 of Matamoros' most recent curative adventures, 
 there were brought the names of Tomasa, Irurtia 
 and the Agualongas. 
 
 Rosaura and Alcira were not permitted to read 
 the daily press, nor did they care to, bowed down as 
 they were with grief at the loss of Eufemia; but 
 Rosaura, who learned of the imprisonment of Mata- 
 moros and the proceedings against him, and who 
 considered him innocent of her sister's death, begged 
 Irurtia: 
 
 "See, don Camilo, if you and Aquiles can't save 
 this poor senor Matamoros from a long sentence." 
 
 Don Camilo, vexed by the newspaper publicity — 
 which upset him altogether — and eager to please 
 Rosaura, set about to silence the press as much as 
 possible, and to win Matamoros' liberation. He 
 would tell Rosaura later what he had done: how, 
 with the aid of Andres Rata and General Chicharra, 
 he had hushed the press, which was beginning to 
 print the names of the Agualongas very often. 
 Rosaura would be very grateful to him for this 
 favor. He knew that well. 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 263 
 
 By taking Matamoros' side he would gain a double 
 advantage, and don Camilo saw this phase of the 
 matter very clearly. First, should the trial be nol- 
 prossed, don Camilo's name would cease to be 
 bandied about in the newspapers, and don Camilo 
 would thus be spared hours of anguish. He con- 
 sidered the press with such a mingling of hatred and 
 fear! The publication of his name had always 
 pleased him so little! Then Rosaura. ... He 
 felt more than ever smitten : he wished to please her 
 so that he might expect some sentimental recom- 
 pense. Nobody could tell how far Rosaura's grati- 
 tude might reach. She was so good! . . . And 
 women are such strange creatures! . . , Although 
 several times he did ask himself: "What the devil 
 do I need Rosaura's gratitude for? What am I to 
 do with her love?" 
 
 Even before they had produced any results, 
 Irurtia, through Olga, began tactfully to try and 
 turn his future labors for Matamoros' freedom to 
 advantage. Olga, who knew Irurtia, said to him, 
 without being able to restrain herself: 
 
 "But don Camilo, if anybody should be directly 
 concerned in Matamoros' release, it's not Rosaura, 
 nor I, nor anybody else except you. Its' your fault, 
 in fact, that he's now in prison." 
 
 And then, dropping honey upon the aloes, in 
 order not to offend the broker irrevocably, she 
 added: 
 
 "We'll all be deeply indebted to you and uncle 
 Aquiles if this matter is hushed up and Eufemia 
 ceases to serve as a topic for unimaginative journal- 
 ists with nothing to say and no news to write." 
 
264 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 And in her heart Olga thought: 
 
 "Irurtia's hopes in regard to my godmother's grati- 
 tude don't appear very logical; in short, a lover's 
 reasoning. This old duffer sometimes strikes me 
 as being sUly, or else he believes other folk silly. 
 He forgets that the net result of his activities will 
 be to stimulate Andres to discuss the matter with 
 his journalistic friends and to get uncle Aquiles to 
 induce the President to pour oU upon the waters; 
 and he forgets, above all, thafr I can achieve both 
 results as well as he. The sole thing that wUl come 
 out intact from all this effort in behalf of a wretched 
 prisoner, is one of the corners of Irurtia's moral 
 being: his calculating egotism. He is incapable of 
 lifting a finger without measuring his gain before- 
 hand — without first computing how many per cent 
 profit his action may bring him. What a don 
 Camilo ! Besides, he's head over heels in love with 
 my godmother. He acts like a novice in love; he 
 never showed his feelings so plainly. The rogue 
 can no longer conceal his desires. He's lost." 
 
 Nevertheless, despite her understanding that don 
 Camilo was plainly lost, as she put it, Olga, through 
 a certain complication of vanity, congratulated her- 
 self on having guessed the hopes and discovered the 
 thoughts of the money-lender. 
 
 A secret in the possession of a scheming woman is 
 at times equivalent to a compass, and at others, to 
 a cannon. Was this secret going to serve Olga as 
 a weapon or a guide? She could not yet tell; but 
 it was certainly going to be of some use to her in 
 the present case. 
 
 Yes; she was happy to know Irurtia's thoughts. 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 265 
 
 Irurtia was i-eally in love with Rosaura; and like 
 every lover, he had become timid, bold, contradic- 
 tory, absurd. All the better: this was the road to 
 matrimony. All he needed was a skilful shove. 
 Ah! And also to win over her godmother! But it 
 was enough to see clearly into the broker's heart. 
 Let them call her schemer; She went straight af- 
 ter her goal — the end justified the means. 
 
 Don CamUo did not forget Matamoros. 
 
 The first person that came to the prison cell after 
 Matamoros' wife was Irurtia. 
 
 Matamoros was filled with high hope and the 
 heavens seemed to open when he heard don Camilo's 
 promises. 
 
 "I know almost nobody in Caracas," he said, 
 plaintively. "How I appreciate everything you 
 promise to do for me." 
 
 And depicting the gravity of his case, he added: 
 
 "The worst of it is that, according to what I've 
 been told, they've indicted me for illegal practise 
 of medicine. The day before yesterday I made a 
 statement." 
 
 Irurtia knew all about it from the newspapers. 
 
 "That doesn't matter," he assured the prisoner. 
 "You are not guilty. I have already spoken to 
 General Chicharra and I'll speak to him again. 
 He'll pull wires with the President." 
 
 Don Camilo took his leave, still encouraging the 
 imprisoned man: 
 
 "Hold firm, friend Matamoros. Your case is a 
 good one. And depend upon me to do all I possibly 
 can." 
 
 To Matamoros it seemed as if the world were fall- 
 
266 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ing on top of him. His property forsaken, his store 
 closed, his household in tears; he, so accustomed to 
 the freedom of the country and to personal liberty, 
 in a stone cage! And all for what? For having 
 done good all his life, succoring the pain of so many 
 wretched creatures; for having studied the proper- 
 ties of plants and turned them to the advantage of 
 unhappy persons; for haying dried so many tears, 
 returned health to so many ailing ones, vigor to so 
 many bodies, joy and the blessings of God to so 
 many homes! What had he done, finally? He 
 had obeyed a summons from Caracas; he had placed 
 at the service of persons whom he did not know, and 
 at the disposition of a dying woman whom God 
 Himself could not have saved, his good will and 
 his curative concoctions. And how was society re- 
 warding him! Did he deserve to be proceeded 
 against Hke a bandit and be caged like a tiger? He 
 could not believe it all. Society was unjust toward 
 him — unjust and cruel. 
 
 Among the circumstances that most vexed hun in 
 prison were the gibes of a cheap doctor who was 
 detained there for having brought about an abortion 
 for a certain strumpet- The abortion had cost the 
 one her life and the other his freedom. 
 
 This man, who hired out what he had learned in 
 the universities to persons desiring crimes such as 
 abortion, to poke fun at him, who had labored only 
 to do good and had never accepted anything for his 
 services! 
 
 The cheap doctor, indeed, listened disdainfully to 
 the virtues of each plant. His tiny mind of a 
 Venezuelan physician — that is to say, of a tutored 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 267 
 
 idiot — knew only what he learned from European 
 books, what men of other lands had discovered and 
 what he repeated like a parrot — while Cirilo Mata- 
 moros, a hundred times more intelligent, had studied 
 Nature in his own country and had discovered for 
 himself the secrets of what existed about him, of his 
 native flora. 
 
 "Very well," admitted the medicaster, putting on 
 airs, "I grant that you may diagnose the patient's 
 malady correctly and that you know what native 
 remedy to apply. But how can you apply these 
 remedies in the proper quantities if you are ignorant 
 of scientific weights and measures?" 
 
 "You are mistaken." 
 
 "No, sir, I am not mistaken; for you speak to 
 me, for example, of a glass of water, of a handful of 
 borage, a pinch of cinammon, a spoonful of syrup. 
 Now spoons, pinches, handfuls and glasses aren't 
 scientific measures." 
 
 The prisoners who listened to the debate admired 
 the doctor and showed their disdain for Matamoros. 
 
 "They may not be scientific," retorted the latter, 
 "but they are the sort that our people understands, 
 and it's the people that I prescribe for. The peas- 
 ants wouldn't understand me if I spoke of drachms, 
 half-drachms, grams, graias, nor, perhaps, of 
 ounces." 
 
 The vain little doctor scoffed at him: 
 
 "That's true: they wouldn't understand . . . 
 nor would you." 
 
 The bystanders' smiles served as a stimulus and 
 as applause to him. 
 
 Cirilo, piqued, tried in his turn to show what he 
 
268 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 knew, and to evade the scorn and the gibes that 
 always seasoned the university man's talk. 
 
 "It's not that I'm ignorant of the scientific weights 
 and measurements, doctor," he said, "but that you're 
 ignorant of the popular ones. They are so simple. 
 Just see: a little coffee-spoon, for example holds 
 twenty grams of water, or sixteen grams of any oU. 
 A glass contains eight soup-spoonfuls. Eight spoon- 
 fuls, that is to say, one hundred and sixty grams. 
 That's the simplest way. A glass: one hundred and 
 sixty grams of water; more or less, that's five 
 ounces." 
 
 "But that accounts for only three measurements; 
 all liquid. I don't suppose you're going to take 
 cornstalk fodder by the spoonfuls." 
 
 The bystanders laughed. 
 
 CirUo felt very much like replying: "Cornstalk 
 fodder is only for asses . . . and for medicasters 
 of your tj^e." But controlling himself he went on : 
 
 "As for the other measurements, my dear doctor, 
 it is done in the same way: they all have their 
 equivalents. A pinch, which is to say, the amount 
 of powder that can be taken between the index and 
 the thumb, ordinarily weighs about six grains. The 
 handful, which is to say, what can be seized in the 
 hand, corresponds to an ounce and two-and-a-half 
 drachms of leaves or of dry flowers — to an ounce 
 and a half of any dry root, and, if it's a question of 
 dry bark, to two ounces." 
 
 "From what I can make out, you weigh things 
 only when they're dry. Suppose they're fresh?" 
 
 "If they're fresh they weigh about twice as much, 
 whether you're dealing with barks, roots, herbs or 
 flowers." 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 269 
 
 "They weigh twice as much, do they, Matamoros? 
 And who vouches for the truth of all this? 
 
 "Nobody. . . . Experience." 
 
 The puffed-up little doctor then said that Mata- 
 moros found an answer for everything — that he 
 argued more volubly than a pettifogger. 
 
 "If you had gone in for law and chicanery rather 
 than for witchcraft or quack doctoring, you would 
 have made a pile more of money and you wouldn't 
 be here now weeping the death of the Agualonga 
 woman." 
 
 One day, when the conversation had turned to 
 territory on which he trod with more confidence, and 
 ^where he could propound with an excess of pedantry 
 and lack of discernment everything that he had 
 learned from the college text-books, the medicaster 
 of the abortion, recalling Tomasa's rheumatism, 
 which Cirilo had previously mentioned, exclaimed: 
 
 "Very well, Cirilo, you who advise and treat the 
 broker's old housekeeper — tell me frankly: Do you 
 know what rheumatism is?" 
 
 "I should say I did." 
 
 "And do you know the etiological or pathogenic 
 connection between rheumatism arid arthritis, tabes, 
 hemiplegia, syringomyelia?" 
 
 "No I don't, nor do I need to." 
 
 The prisoners, who, as soon as the men got to dis- 
 cussing, that is, to tilting, invariably formed a circle 
 about the disputing doctors, would just as invari- 
 ably take the side of the vainglorious charlatan. 
 
 Cirilo's honest confession in regard to his igno- 
 rance of these complications of rheumatism called 
 forth an outburst of laughter from the bystanders. 
 
270 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 This Cirilo, ever since he had come into La Rotunda 
 a few days before, had been the joy of the prison; 
 not in himself, but as the butt of the other doctor's 
 gibes. He was the circus, the amusement of the 
 jaU. 
 
 The conceited university pedant, abandoning for 
 this day his supercilious jesting tone, and penetrated 
 with the notion of his own importance, lifted his 
 hands to his head in horror at the honest confession 
 of ignorance which Cirilo made. 
 
 "And you pretend to cure Irurtia's old domestic 
 without knowing the affinities of ssTingomyelia, 
 tabes and arthritis to rheumatism! Do you know 
 at least, how many classes of chronic rheumatism 
 there are?" 
 
 Receiving a sincere, negative reply from Mata- 
 moros, the medicaster of tlje abortion case began to 
 expounded in a conscientious, methodical manner: 
 
 "Very well, then; neurologists demonstrate that 
 certain cases of chronic arthritis depend upon cen- 
 tral or periferal nervous lesions, and that others are 
 due to hysteria. As to cases of chronic rheumatism, 
 there exist three groups: 1st, chronic deforming 
 rheumatism; 2nd, polymorphic arthropathies from 
 the clinical point of view, of the same nature as 
 plain rheumatism; 3rd, gouty rheumatism, charac- 
 teristic of persons suffering from arthritis and indic- 
 ative of malnutrition. Do you know to which of 
 these groups your patient belongs?" 
 
 "All I know is that she's improving under my 
 treatment." 
 
 "She's improving? Yes; pretty soon she won't 
 need your remedies at all, as she'll foUow the same 
 road as seBiora Agualonga." 
 
CIRILO IN TROUBLE 271 
 
 The listeners burst into laughter. Matamoros, 
 provoked, withdrew from the group grumbling. 
 
 Since that time, not caring to serve as the target 
 of their hUarity, he chose not to answer the petty 
 physician. 
 
 No sooner did he catch sight of him in one corner 
 of the prison than Cirilo walked to the opposite side. 
 
 The inexhaustible verborrhea and even the mere 
 presence of the dolt constituted to Cirilo one of the 
 most distasteful aspects of prison life. At least he 
 enwrapped himself in a classic silence as in a toga. 
 Nobody could get another word out of him. He 
 looked upon aU the prisoners as his enernies; every 
 one of them, in greater or less degree made fun of 
 him or wished to do so. 
 
 Poor, stiff-haired Matamoros, who always looked 
 like a wild animal, now appeared for all the world 
 like a caged tiger. 
 
 In the meantime the days passed by and Irurtia's 
 promises showed no sign of becoming realities. 
 
VI 
 
 DON CAMILO DE ORO 
 
 IT is between three and half -past three of the 
 afternoon. The sun is already guiding its steeds 
 westward and filters slantingly into Irurtia's bed- 
 chamber, inundating it with light and warmth. The 
 brightness enters in a thick stream of sunlight, and 
 in this flood of light there rises from the frayed, 
 yellowish bed a swarm of darting, agile atoms and 
 particles. 
 
 From within come the sounds of Tomasa's limp- 
 ing steps; she has been about since finishing her 
 noon-day nap, hobbling hither and thither, warm- 
 ing her bandage cloth in the oven, or getting ready 
 to wash in the warm hours of the afternoon. Dur- 
 ing the warm hours she can, at least, be free of the 
 worst pains of her rheumatism, while she wets, 
 presses and bleaches towels, tablecloths, kitchen 
 cloths, her own skirts and Irurtia's shirts. 
 
 Irurtia, in the center of the room, has just finished 
 dressing for the street, where his regular affairs await 
 him. 
 
 Ever since he has fallen in love, he has gradually 
 became transformed, without realizing it, not into a 
 fop exactly, but certainly into a more careful dresser 
 and one attentive to the effect of his clothes upon 
 the fair sex; now he was wont to spend more time 
 in his toilette than usual. 
 
 272 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 273 
 
 He had purchased a little sixty-centimo mirror 
 from one of the numerous Turkish hawkers that 
 carry their stock upon their backs through Caracas, 
 going from door to door selling baubles. Never be- 
 fore had he bought a looking-glass. For shaving 
 purposes he had always used the cracked and tarn- 
 ished peseta mirror that Tomasa had presented to 
 him, placing it above the wobbly old washstand 
 that at the same time served him as a dressing-table. 
 But that mirror scarcely reflected his face, so 
 permanent and longstanding was the eclipse. It 
 might well be said that Irurtia shaved himself by 
 memory. 
 
 He had another looking-glass, a round, miniature, 
 pocket-size affair, that had come into his hands on 
 a certain carnival day, without his quite being aware 
 just how. These articles were used by a cigarette 
 factory as an attractive means of advertisement, and 
 were distributed to the passers-by on that holiday. 
 Without trying to get one, Irurtia had somehow or 
 other found one in his hand; and to tell the truth, it 
 was of more use to him, despite its tiny proportions, 
 than his opaque, half-blind mirror. At least, he 
 could see a clear reflection of himself in it. But 
 everything ip this world is frail and perishable, even 
 presentation mirrors handed out on carnival days, 
 and on one sad day it was broken into bits. 
 
 Irurtia was placing into his closet his new little 
 glass — the one he had bought from the Turk — 
 after having surveyed himself fqr a long time, and 
 twirled the sparse gray hairs of his moustache 
 conscientiously, when he heard the noise of a coach 
 stopping before his door, or not far away. "Can it be 
 
274 THE MAN OF GOLD i 
 
 for me?" he thought, hoping that it would not be. 
 Two loud knocks answered that it was for him. 
 
 He turned the shutters to discover who was knock- 
 ing, before he should let the visitor cross his 
 threshold, in case it should be a trustworthy person. 
 Who could it be? 
 
 It was no less a personage than the. illustrious, 
 never-sufficiently-estimated General Aquiles Chi- 
 charra. 
 
 "I am brought here," began the newcomer, "by a 
 business matter of the utmost urgency; an affair of 
 transcendent import, to me, to you, to the Presi- 
 dent of the Republic, to the Liberal Party and to the 
 entire nation." 
 
 Don Camilo grew alarmed, unaccustomed to such 
 solemn preambles. Chicharra continued his exor- 
 dium of soapy pomposity. 
 
 Somewhat confused, Irurtia confessed: 
 
 "Frankly, General, I don't understand a word." 
 
 "You'll very soon understand, friend Irurtia. I 
 can't bring you to a realization of such a vast prop- 
 osition in a trice." 
 
 Chicharra continued in his rhetorical digressions: 
 
 "You know, don Camilo, that I am a friend of 
 yours: a true, a good, a great friend." 
 
 "I don't doubt it for a moment, my dear Qeneral, 
 not for a moment. ..." 
 
 Irurtia had suddenly been drenched in a down- 
 pour of ice-cold water that froze him. His mistrust, 
 awakening, put him on guard. He believed that 
 Chicharra had come to ask him for a loan. If not, 
 then why all these protestations of friendship and 
 these preliminaries before coming to the business 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 275 
 
 proposition? For Chicharra had clearly used the 
 word "business." The word still echoed in his ears. 
 Now that he was on guard and prepared to defend 
 his money, Irurtia, aggressive as ever, declared: 
 
 "Very well. General; let's get to the point. What 
 do you wish of me? How can I be of service to 
 you?" 
 
 "It's not I whom you can serve; it's the President 
 of the Republic, the Liberal Party, the Fatherland." 
 
 "It must be some loan to the President," thought 
 the usurer, growing more and more angry. "I can't 
 escape this." 
 
 "I ask nothing of the Fatherland," he replied, "nor 
 of the Liberal Party, nor of the President of the 
 Republic. Nor have they anything to require of 
 me. . . . That's my opinion." 
 
 "Blasphemy!" shouted Chicharra. "Then know 
 that the President, representing the Fatherland, and 
 I, representing the Liberal Party, have remembered 
 you." 
 
 Now Irurtia began to believe that he was to be 
 decorated with the bust of the Liberator. 
 
 But he was not certain. His shirt-button, full 
 of curiosity, drew the huge head of his collar-button 
 forward through the celluloid collar. Irurtia, all 
 eyes, twisted his fingers, wriggled his legs, shrinking, 
 until he seemed to be undergoing a metamorphosis 
 — as if he had decided to lose his human semblance 
 and be transformed into a fantastic rodent. It might 
 have been imagined that the rodent, avidly at- 
 tacking the lardaceous Chicharra; was gnawing 
 at Aquiles' rubicund nose; that, having penetrated 
 through his navel, it had made its way through the 
 
276 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 various kilometers of belly until it issued from that 
 part where most men have their brains, but where 
 the rodent found only a viscous mass of a color 
 between white and green, quite similar to the mat- 
 ter secreted by pituitary noses and tubercular 
 throats. 
 
 A decoration — a loan — what had this chatter- 
 box of the insipid, involved, vacuous prologues 
 come to announce to him? That they had remem-i 
 bered him ! He could not help asking with mingled 
 surprise and curiosity: 
 
 "But why have you remembered me?" 
 
 At last Chicharra condescended to speak plainly, 
 and in a few words he explained the object of his 
 coming. It was certainly time that he did. 
 
 It concerned the appointment of don Camilo 
 Irurtia to the position of Minister of Finance. 
 
 There was a ministerial crisis. Chicharra, the 
 future Minister of Internal Relations, had learned 
 from the President in confidence the difficulty in- 
 volved in naming a Minister of Finance. The Presi- 
 dent, perplexed as to a choice, complained that there 
 were no financiers in Venezuela, and that though 
 the country would have a Ministry of Finance, there 
 would always be lacking a Minister, despite the fact 
 that some individual would bear the title. 
 
 It was then that Chicharra had suggested the 
 nomination of don Camilo Irurtia. The President 
 had not even heard of the name. Whereupon 
 Chicharra, desiring it to appear ihat he was serving 
 the President, or with a sincere desire to serve him, 
 lest the latter should imagine that the future Minis- 
 ter of Internal Ptelations was a fellow who did not 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 277" 
 
 have at hand a solution for any number of problems 
 that should arise — and perhaps, in his heart, eager 
 to have it known that he had recommended a Minis- 
 ter of Finance and had obtained the election of his 
 candidate — spoke up for the broker, exaggerating 
 matters as much as he could, embellishing him with 
 excellent qualities and multiple talents. In his own 
 way he related the tale of the usurer's life, in pom- 
 pous, encomiastic terms. He was a financier of the 
 highest type. The President slily asked: 
 
 "And where may this pearl be hidden? How is 
 it that previous administrations have not employed 
 the skUl of this man?" 
 
 He was anxious to meet him and speak with him. 
 
 No less vain than Chicharra, though not anywhere 
 nearly such a fool, the President believed that merely 
 by seeing Irurtia he could discover whether he was 
 a genuine financier or only sham; at least, he be- 
 lieved, he could tell whether he could develop this 
 hoarder into a Minister of the Treasury. 
 
 "Provided he holds on to the State's money as 
 well as he does to his own," he said, "we'll never be 
 short of change. And that little is a great deal to 
 begin with." 
 
 When Irurtia heard from Chicharra's lips that 
 they were thinking of naming him Minister and that 
 the President desired to speak with him, he was 
 deeply disturbed and remained pensively mute. 
 
 "Answer," urged Chicharra. 
 
 "Answer what?" the miser asked, as if stupefied. 
 "I'll think it over. We'll see. That's a serious 
 matter." 
 
 Chicharra waxed furious. 
 
278 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 An organic defect, a deficiency in his very soul, 
 rooted in the innermost recesses of his being pre- 
 vented him from comprehending how a man could 
 need to meditate as to whether it behooved him or 
 not to go and see the President of the Republic in 
 regard to accepting or rejecting a ministerial port- 
 folio. 
 
 As to Irurtia, who had lived always not on illu- 
 sions but on flesh and blood realities, and over whom 
 vanity had never held sway — he had been overcome 
 with amazement and mistrust on hearing Chicharra's 
 tempting words. With amazement, because he had 
 never imagined that the ministry of finance would 
 be offered to an inexperienced person who had never 
 even solicited it, through lack of the requisite quali- 
 fications and the rights to such preferment; with 
 mistrust, because everything that related to politics, 
 beginning with the public press, filled him with the 
 greatest suspicion. 
 
 He had amassed a fortune and managed a cap- 
 ital without any need to interfere in public affairs; 
 he was already a possessor of wealth. Now his for- 
 tune was increasing spontaneously, and only his in- 
 telligent surveillance was needed to insure prosper- 
 ity. In politics, many, almost all, grow rich; that 
 was certain; but how many were ruined! This was 
 no profession for him. Other men, more experienced 
 and more cunning than he, might swindle him. And 
 then, even in the case of the least self-seeking, or 
 the most scrupulous, or the most patriotic — what 
 would be such a one's reward in Venezuela? What 
 could be expected from past experience, as a result 
 of inveterate habits? The papers would insult him, 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 279 
 
 those in power would bear him a grudge, and he 
 would be confronted with prison, perhaps exile, per- 
 haps ruin. ... 
 
 On the other hand, to go to sleep an ordinary mor- 
 tal and wake up a Minister of Finance, was no 
 bagatelle. At the sole idea of "finance," which the 
 wily Chicharra dangled before the miser's gaze, 
 Irurtia's eyes shot flame. 
 
 But, no; he could not settle the matter without 
 due consideration. He would give his reply on the 
 following day. 
 
 "Reply tomorrow!" shouted Chicharra beside 
 himself, his nasal appendage as red as a ruby. 
 "You've gone crazy, my good man. You can't go to 
 the President and say: Tomorrow; you can't say to 
 the Liberal Party: Tomorrow; you can't answer me, 
 the next Minister of the Interior, who come to offer 
 you honors, power, wealth — you can't answer me 
 with: Tomorrow. You don't know politics. In 
 politics, friend Irurtia, there is no tomorrow, there 
 is no yesterday, no 'I'll think it over,' no consider- 
 ing matters — nothing at all but looking for your 
 opportunity and seizing it by the hair when it ap- 
 pears." 
 
 Irurtia was in a dilemma. 
 
 "There's my coach at the door," continued Chi- 
 charra. "Let's go to see the President. On the way 
 you can think it over as much as you please. And 
 remember that you're not going to commit yourself 
 one way or the other; that you don't even have 
 to let the President know we've talked the matter 
 over. . . . You're going simply to let the Presi- 
 dent see you, listen to you, know you,^ judge you, 
 
280 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 after which he, with his great foresight, is to decide 
 whether he will find it feasible to convert you into 
 a member of the Administration or not, placing you 
 at a single stroke — he who is so powerful — in the 
 highest spheres of politics." 
 
 Don Camilo listened in silence and bit his nails. 
 
 Chicharra continued: 
 
 "How many men would long to be in your boots 
 now! How many would give the world to have 
 Aquiles Chicharra step out of a coach before their 
 doors and take them off in tow to become Ministers 
 of Finance!" 
 
 "Good, General Chicharra," questioned Irurtia 
 suddenly. "And what would be expected of me?" 
 
 "What the deuce do I know! Am I, perchance, 
 the President of the Republic?" . . . 
 
 After a solemn pause meant to impress upon don 
 Camilo the fact that Chicharra was not the Presi- 
 dent of the Republic, Aquiles continued : 
 
 "They'll expect nothing, I'm sure. Nothing — 
 not even a protestation of allegiance to the Liberal 
 Party." 
 
 And smiling, he added: 
 
 "Which I consider rather an untactful attitude, 
 for at bottom you're something of a conservative." 
 
 Irurtia did not smile, like Chicharra, but became 
 very serious, fearing already that he might lose the 
 ministry which he had not yet accepted. 
 
 "I a conservative?" he replied, gravely. "Unless 
 you mean a conservator of my money! I have al- 
 ways felt the liveliest sympathy for the Liberals. 
 If I had entered politics, or if I were now to go 
 into it, I'd be found in the ranks of the Liberals." 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 281 
 
 Chicharra arose, embraced him and said with an 
 air of finality: 
 
 "Very well. If you're really a Liberal, act like 
 one. Put on your hat and forward march." 
 
 bbediently, and without another word, Irurtia 
 seized his cane and his hat and walked out after the 
 obese, triumphant Aquiles. 
 
 He was not going to let himself be asked, if they 
 should name him. Chicharra had almost convinced 
 him, almost conquered him. Though he let him- 
 self be taken along, Irurtia walked with bowed head, 
 somewhat timorous; like a maiden being led to the 
 couch of her husband on the first night -r- like a 
 gravid woman ready to give birth, like the pick- 
 pocket about to be initiated into the trade — like all 
 who are on the way to losing a certain virginity, 
 for the first time venturing a decisive act that will 
 greatly affect their future. 
 
 The carriage rolled on toward the Palace of Mira- 
 flores. Coaches resounded upon the pavement of 
 blue stone. The afternoon sun gleamed from the 
 gold buttons of the coachman. 
 
 Chicharra was of the opinion that it was not yet 
 time to go to the President's home, as the President 
 would still be in his office. Not wishing' to leave 
 don Camilo, through fear that the miser might sud- 
 denly be seized with regret at his action, and not 
 wishing to confess to Irurtia that they could do 
 nothing for a short time, thus losing importance in 
 the broker's eyes — Chicharra surrendered to a per- 
 sonal whim and directed the coach toward Santa 
 Teresa. He had thought of Olga. 
 
 He left Irurtia in the coach, engrossed in deep 
 
282 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 meditation, and now that the opportunity had come, 
 fled to tell Olga that the future Minister of Finance 
 — selected and almost elected — practically imposed 
 on the government by him, it might be said — was 
 Camilo Irurtia. 
 
 In the zagudn Chicharra encountered a man who 
 was just coming out; he was beardless and wore a 
 conical hat. The meeting shocked Chicharra, and 
 as he greeted his niece, even before he took a seat, 
 he asked her: 
 
 "Who's th9,t clean-shaven chap I just met in the 
 zagudn?" 
 
 Olga was a trifle perturbed. "Oh, nothing, a mere 
 trifle, a passing caller," she replied. Chicharra, who 
 was at that moment filled with plans and political 
 projects, noticed nothing strange. 
 
 "He ..." replied Andres Rata's wife, " — he's 
 a bull-fighter. He came ... he came to try and 
 sell us some tickets to his benefit performance." 
 
 "But you folks are in mourning." 
 
 "How are these people to know, when we are 
 strangers to them?" 
 
 "And why didn't he approach Andres, at the 
 newspaper office?" 
 
 "I don't know. I told him that Andres was not 
 at home." 
 
 And in order to shift the conversation to another 
 topic, she invited Chicharra, who was still standing 
 in the corridor, to enter the living-room. She urged 
 him with gesture and voice: 
 
 "For heaven's sake. Uncle. Come in and sit 
 down." 
 
 They entered and sat down. Chicharra swore that 
 he did wrong to accept. 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 283 
 
 "And why so, Uncle?" 
 
 "The fact is,- 1 have no time, my dear girl. Time 
 for nothing; no time for eating, nor even for breath- 
 ing. Cursed politics!" 
 
 He was in no hurry to broach the matter that 
 had brought him to Olga; he was prepariag it with 
 intricate preambulation; such was his manner. The 
 Lord had taken pity upon Venezuela. At last the 
 genuine Liberals were going to govern: he would be 
 Minister of the Interior, director of politics he 
 might say, and in a figurative sense, master of the 
 nation. 
 
 "You, Uncle? You?" 
 
 "But, my dear woman, it seems you're surprised. 
 Am I not worthy of that high charge? Then 
 know: not only am I minister, but I'm taking Irurtia 
 into the cabinet as Minister of Finance." 
 
 Olga was amazed. What imbeciles men were! 
 A country at the mercy of this microcephalic uncle 
 of hers — of those cucurbitaceans whom she knew 
 so well and who she so heartily detested! 
 
 This instantaneous stupefaction Chicharra took 
 for a sign of sincere and irrepressible admiration 
 which might be translated into these words: "My! 
 This man is a regular demon!" 
 
 Before senora Rata could utter a syllable, Chi- 
 charra assured her that he had come to her home 
 — not to gain time, not because the President was 
 stUl in session with the cabinet at that moment — 
 but to hasten to tell Olga the good news: he, a 
 minister; Irurtia likewise a minister. Why, he could 
 almost make her a minister, too. He was an expert 
 pilot in the political waters. 
 
284 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Olga tried to correct her extemporaneous exclama- 
 tion of a few moments previous — that ingenuous 
 "You, uncle!" which had struck Chicharra as being 
 so ill apropos — and cunningly provoked an out- 
 burst of Achillean vanity. 
 
 Aquiles' having been made a minister had not 
 surprised her in the least. Had not Chicharra been 
 in Venezuela whatever he had wished to be, except 
 Archbishop and President? He had been, like the 
 eagles, for the heights. But that he should have 
 elevated Irurtia to the ministry — now this was, 
 frankly speaking, what struck her as utterly incred- 
 ible. 
 
 "That's a master stroke, Uncle, a veritable tour de 
 force." 
 
 "You can't imagine! You'll never be able to 
 imagine the struggle I had to get him in; a Hercu- 
 lean task. I'll tell you all about it later." 
 
 Chicharra passed his handkerchief across his fore- 
 head, as if in that very instant, after Titanic efforts, 
 he had succeeded at last in lifting a weight of two 
 hundred kilos. 
 
 A naturally egotistic idea occurred to Olga. With 
 such good friends to speak for her in the government, 
 why should it be difficult to obtain a good position 
 for Andres? There was no money in journalism. 
 Not daring to insinuate her ambitious desire, she 
 nevertheless reminded Aquiles, in a clever, indirect 
 manner, that he was indebted partly to her for his 
 ministerial position, as she had lent her services in 
 the famous quadrille to turn the head of the satyr. 
 
 "Our collaboration didn't go to waste, did it, 
 Uncle?" 
 
DON CAMILO DE ORO 285 
 
 "No, my dear girl; you did not plant in arid soil." 
 
 And as Chicharra did not show any signs of hav- 
 ing grasped her meaning, Olga, assuming the role 
 of an ingenuous maiden, added: 
 
 "How happy Andres will be to hear all this!" 
 
 It was then that Chicharra began to make 
 promises; but taking out his watch in the midst of 
 his fine offers, he saw that it was time to leave. 
 
 "I must go, niece," he said, resolutely taking his 
 hat. 
 
 Olga did not detain him. 
 
 He took his leave, his vanity content. At the 
 outer street-door, up to which Olga accompanied 
 him, Olga pressed his right hand affectionately and 
 said: 
 
 "Good-bye, then, sefior Minister. I congratulate 
 you, principally upon having brought to the govern- 
 ment as your creature, the man of gold." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, epigtamatically. "You may 
 consider it done. The man of gold will be the man 
 of the nation's gold." 
 
yii 
 
 IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 
 
 T OMASA moves about like an automaton. She 
 cannot understand a thing of what is going on. 
 She goes, comes, does, undoes, but lives as if in 
 limbo and wracks her brains in an endless effort to 
 make out what is taking place. 
 
 Her life and that of don Camilo were transformed 
 overnight. All logic ceased in the world when that 
 existence of rigid economy suddenly gave way to 
 one of prodigal expenditures; when their solitary 
 life became one of an incessant whirlwind of per- 
 sons coming and going at all hours; when these two 
 old creatures were turned inside out, just like a 
 pair of stockings. Even her almost chronic rheuma- 
 tism, treated by a specialist, fled this recently arrived 
 splendor and showed up only from time to time. 
 
 Before all the adulation that was now heaped 
 upon Irurtia, before the aspect of the new house, 
 the new furniture, the coach — confronted with all 
 this ministerial apparatus, Tomasa's admiration for 
 Camilo rose to the skies. No longer did she dare, 
 except when they were alone, to address him simply 
 as Camilo, or to use the familiar pronoun with him. 
 Good Lord, who could ever have thought it! 
 
 Tomasa's disorientation was easy to understand. 
 What a transformation! 
 
 Irurtia changed houses for the third time in his 
 
 286 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 287 
 
 rather long existence. A minister of Finance can- 
 not live in a usurer's lair. He went to the central 
 section of the city, to one of his best pieces of 
 property, which he had furnished at the nation's 
 expense, if not with taste, with lavish display. 
 
 The State, too, pays the rent of the house in 
 which Irurtia lives; or rather, don Camilo collects 
 in advance the annual rental of the place, not with- 
 out tripling or quadrupling the charge. 
 
 Overnight Irurtia's countless city houses, from the 
 most humble shanty to the manorial mansion of 
 the Agualongas, which had already been remodelled 
 and made up-to-date, were taken by assault by 
 willing tenants who did not haggle over prices, 
 seemingly the more satisfied the higher the rents 
 were fixed, like persons quite happy to be robbed. 
 They were ambitious office-seekers and political as- 
 pirants who followed this stratagem in order to 
 come into contact, even though it were indirect, 
 with a Minister of Finance who was acquiring such 
 infl'uence in governmental spheres. Berroteran him- 
 self, with whom the aspirants often conspired in 
 regard to renting one of Irurtia's properties — that 
 self saine cunning and phlegmatic Berroteran — had 
 ascended to the position of a person who is fawned 
 upon and whose handclasps are sought. 
 
 Don Camilo's influence, indeed, had risen and 
 quickly spread. 
 
 From the very first week he had initiated a pro- 
 gram of retrenchment that pleased the President 
 greatly. The plan was not at all complicated, and 
 because of its very simplicity was better understood 
 by that chief executive, dispenser of all boons, be- 
 
288 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 ginning and end, in his country, of all things; eager 
 to conserve the public fortune that he might the 
 more rapidly augment his own, 
 
 Irurtia's project consisted in reducing by a half, 
 and by even two-thirds, the pay of the national em- 
 ployees; in reducing the appropriation for public 
 education; in forbidding the expenditure of a cen- 
 timo in the purchase of men-of-war, guns, cannons; 
 in suppressing, as useless, all diplomatic ministers 
 and consuls from Venezuela to foreign countries; 
 in doing away with, or almost annulling, the budget 
 of internal improvements. No more telegraphs: 
 there were so many kilometers of telegraph wire. 
 No more railroads: let folks travel by the highways, 
 stopping over in the villages and thus providing the 
 villagers with a source of income; the railroad was 
 the enemy of the small towns and ruined the general 
 stores on the roads. No need to attract immigrants; 
 they would come of their own accord when they 
 would be needed; he would have no Farmers' Banks: 
 the business of the capital city bankers would be 
 ruined — the bankers who loaned and trusted the 
 farmers with such self-denial. In addition, exporta- 
 tion must be taxed; whatever the country produced 
 and sent out must leave something in the national 
 treasury. Sources of income must be created. 
 
 Don Gamilo had ideas of his own. The Presi- 
 dent approved them and fostered them as soon as 
 he learned of them. 
 
 As a result of these doncamilesque reforms, 
 Irurtia's reputation as a financier was established 
 upon foundations of granite. 
 
 But don Camilo did not impose his innovations 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 289 
 
 without a bitter struggle with the partizans of the 
 statu quo. Fortunately "the great financier," as 
 Andres Rata had christened him, counted upon two 
 levers — something that had not occurred to Archi- 
 medes — and was able to dislocate the world, his 
 world. These two marvellous levers that Archi- 
 medes had not known were the President and AquUes 
 Chicharra. 
 
 Not only was Irurtia opposed by the partizans of 
 the statu quo, but also by those who aspired to im- 
 provements without providing the money with 
 which to realize them. Both factions united against 
 don Camilo. The daily press expounded various 
 theories. 
 
 When any sheet dared to censure — oh, so timidly! 
 — the economical policies of Irurtia, Andres Rata 
 jumped wildly into the arena. 
 
 Andres Rata was the unconditional supporter of 
 Irurtia's projects. "The plans of this great finan- 
 cier," he wrote, "who rivals the most eminent states- 
 men of England and France, will prove to be the 
 salvation of the republic. . . . Let us accept them 
 with ardent patriotic fervor." 
 
 The Cabinet celebrated a historic session when 
 Irurtia presented his first projects of retrenchment. 
 
 In regard to the reduction of the salaries of na- 
 tional employees, it seemed ridiculous to various 
 ministers that the government should surround it- 
 self with a court of starvelings. 
 
 "No, my dear colleagues," was Irurtia's opinion. 
 "With what I assign to them they are able to live. 
 I myself have lived upon less." 
 
 Aquiles Chicharra lent him his vigorous support: 
 
290 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 "We must do away with this employomania," he 
 vociferated. "If any of these petty employees isn't 
 satisfied, let him go to work. Our fields lack hands." 
 
 And the President, already planning to appro- 
 priate to himself all the money saved by Irurtia's 
 economies, asserted: 
 
 "The money saved by reducing the salaries of 
 employees wiU be used to promote native indus- 
 tries." 
 
 For the rest, each minister limited himself to de- 
 fending his branch. 
 
 The Minister of Education said: 
 
 "Without public education there does not exist', 
 nor can there exist, a modern state. Education is 
 the cornei"-stone of the future; let us create con- 
 scientious citizens if we wish to have a true father- 
 land." 
 
 The Minister of War: 
 
 "If we wish to have a true fatherland, let us 
 purchase guns, cannon, aeroplanes, cruisers, sub- 
 marines; let us build forts; let us establish arsenals; 
 let us create a formidable army. Our dangers are 
 many. How are we to defend our long coastline 
 without many, many submarines, without a great 
 number of warships and countless floating mines? 
 How are we to defend our independence against the 
 imperialistic appetites of the great powers without 
 a huge, trained army?" 
 
 "Bah!" exclaimed Irurtia. "The United States 
 will defend us against the great powers." 
 
 "And who will defend us against the defender?" 
 
 "That's a bit of excessive subtilizing, senor Min- 
 ister of War," answered Chicharra. "The United 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 291 
 
 States, a country that I know well because I lived 
 in its chief cities for three months and twelve days 
 and acquired there the experience that I possess — 
 the United States, I repeat, affirm and maintain, 
 do not aspire to the political domination of Latin 
 America, but to commercial hegemony." 
 
 "But are you not aware, General Chicharra," ex- 
 claimed the Minister of Foreign Relations," that to 
 accept this commercial hegemony is to accept 
 a form of dependence; and that commercial 
 slavery is a forerunner of political slavery? Even 
 more: the independence of a nation is an empty 
 word, if that nation depends commercially and ab- 
 solutely upon another nation. It's all the same 
 whether a feUow is seized by the stomach or by the 
 neck. That is why I believe that in order to defend 
 ourselves against the United States, we ought to 
 develop bonds of interest and all manner of rela- 
 tions with Europe and with the rest of South Amer- 
 ica. That is why I oppose the suppression of 
 consuls and diplomatic representatives." 
 
 "All this money ej^pended upon diplomatic rep- 
 resentatives and consuls seems absolutely thrown 
 out," said the President. 
 
 "That's just it," approved Chicharra, without let- 
 ting the executive finish his sentence, and without 
 even knowing just what opinion the man was going 
 to express. 
 
 When the noise of the servile applause had ceased, 
 the great military expert of a President was able to 
 clarify his idea: 
 
 "The money spent upon diplomatic relations is 
 a sheer waste. As far as our relations with the 
 
292 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 powers are concerned, I, here in Caracas, can reach 
 a thorough understanding with their representa- 
 tives." 
 
 The idea was a brilliant one, worthy of the Gen- 
 eral President, who had only recently issued from 
 the Andine caves, and worthy, too, of Chicharra's 
 approval — Chicharra of the famous quadrille, the 
 rival of Francisco Linares Alcantara. 
 
 The Minister of Foreign Relations thought it his 
 duty to protest. 
 
 "No, General, in heaven's name! This is equiva- 
 lent to the spontaneous renunciation by Venezuela, 
 of its international rights; it means that we, of 
 our own accord, reduce ourselves to the rank of a 
 protectorate, to which agents are sent but from 
 which representatives are not accepted." 
 
 The President could not see the matter in thai 
 light and there was no way of convincing him. 
 
 "To him who is not in accord with my policies and 
 with the economical policies of Minister Irurtia, 
 whose plan I approve in every detail, there is but 
 one course left: to resign and withdraw." 
 
 This was enough. Compromises were sought, 
 means of agreement were found, and all, all, all — 
 the Minister of War, the Minister of Education, 
 the Minister of Foreign Relations — all approved 
 Irurtia's project as well as the internal, external and 
 etiernal policies of the General President. 
 
 The details of this memorable session of the Cabi- 
 net leaked out to the public, thanks to Chicharra's 
 secret confidences. 
 
 Irurtia's prestige ih the nation's eye rose to the 
 clouds. "The machiavellism" and the foresight of 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 293 
 
 the already famous general don Aquiles Chicharra 
 won sincere laudation. As for the President, ever 
 since that day he was considered as a person with his 
 own ideas and with the firmness of character to 
 maintain them. 
 
 The well-conquered and well-merited influence 
 that Irurtia exercised upon the President kept gain- 
 ing in solidity as the days ran by; and as a re- 
 flection of this favor, the prestige of Irurtia among 
 his friends and among strangers grew stronger and 
 stronger. 
 
 In a very brief space of time Irurtia became, next 
 to the President, the favorite of Caracas, the polit- 
 ical paragon of the republic. His words aroused 
 comment and thought, even on the part of those 
 whom they did not affect. Deference was shown 
 to his opinions; his simplicity of dress and the 
 hygienic qualities of his vegetarian diet were found 
 to be in excellent taste. It became a fad to go to 
 sleep with the hens and rise with the dawn. 
 Sobriety was transformed into a virtue. Virility 
 made offerings to chastity. As for economy, altars 
 were raised to it. We had been a nation of spend- 
 thrifts. What' a lesson the great flnancier gave to 
 everybody! All must be economical, like don 
 Camilo Irurtia. 
 
 The prestige of the President alone rose above 
 that of Irurtia. And how great must have been the 
 President's prestige when that of Irurtia, by re- 
 fraction, reached such limits! 
 
 On a certain morning, very early — about eight 
 o'clock — a large number of persons was waiting 
 in Irurtia's reception hall. 
 
294 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 A liveried attendant was admitting them one by- 
 one into the cabinet where the financier, seated be- 
 fore a rosewood desk, received them and sent them 
 forth in a trice. 
 
 The visitors left content, smiling, happy, prodi- 
 gal with polite attentions. They had just spoken 
 with Irurtia! Irurtia had promised them this or 
 that! 
 
 At a given moment the Minister, through his at- 
 tendant, conveyed his regrets that he could receive 
 no more that day. The following morning, at the 
 same hour, he would await the gentlemen now pres- 
 ent. The cloud of visitors, the mob of seekers, 
 broke up, sighing or muttering. 
 
 Irurtia wished to be alone, not because his duties 
 required it, but because he was bored. It was not 
 yet time for him to leave for the ministry, nor had 
 his correspondence yet arrived. But he was weary 
 of all these supplicating visitors: some begged one 
 thing; others, another; but they all asked for some- 
 thing, they all delivered the same tedious discourses 
 which he already knew by heart. No, he did not 
 care to continue receiving. He yearned for liberty; 
 a moment for himself, at least in his own home, since 
 privacy was impossible in the ministry. What a 
 life he led now! 
 
 He was satisfied with his lot, however! He could 
 not imagine how he had not put his shoulder to 
 politics sooner! He had lost precious years of his 
 life vegetating like a parasite stuck to a social body, 
 instead of serving it as head, or at least, muscle! 
 A pity! It seemed that he had been defrauded. 
 But the intensity of his present satisfaction com- 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 295 
 
 pensated for those other satisfactions that he had 
 missed in his youth. 
 
 And these offioial pleasures did not consist merely 
 in contributing to the happiness of his compatriots 
 from his ministerial chair. In this unending flow of 
 gold, thousands and thousands of shining coins 
 trickled through his fingers and all of them fell, as if 
 under the speU of an enchantment, subject to a fatal 
 charm, into the ancient safe that Tomasa never 
 dared to touch even with the duster, and which had 
 ever been covered with a layer of venerable dust. 
 
 How regulate the most barefaced practises, the 
 most C3Tiical thefts? Not in vain had Camilo Irurtia 
 learned book-keeping and native arithmetic. Min- 
 utely and patiently he went over his accounts to 
 compute, from what he had purloined and filched 
 during his few months of ministerial initiation, how 
 much he might have provided himself with during 
 those years he had lived in ignorance of the fact 
 that there were ministries of finance in this world 
 below. He had robbed himself. The thought of 
 such a loss embittered his otherwise sweet existence. 
 
 Another drop of aloes, which was incessantly re- 
 newed, fell into the cup of the powerful, happy man 
 whom everybody fawned upon : Rosaura. 
 
 Rosaura did not love him; at least, she did not 
 love him as he had thought she did, and as he 
 desired Rosaura to love him. To be sure, she had 
 agreed to marry him; but it was also sure that in 
 accepting him for her husband, Rosaura seemed 
 more resigned than happy. As a practical man, he 
 knew very well that at his age certain illusions are 
 hard to inspire and foster; but he knew also, as a 
 
296 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 practical man, when he was being received with 
 enthusiasm and when he was merely being endured. 
 
 He could not bear the idea that Rosaura was 
 simply putting up with him! He loved her and 
 he was going to possess her; little need it trouble 
 him whether she loved him or not. And yet — 
 yes, it did matter! Why? Everybody knows: love 
 that is mutual grows . . . and gives pleasure. 
 The nature of love compels it to feed upon love, and 
 if our amorous sentiment does not feed upon an 
 analogous feeling that is roused in the beloved by 
 a responsive sympathy, it complains, it suffers, and 
 makes us unhappy. 
 
 How many, how many would give the world to 
 marry him! Nor had insinuations and advances 
 been lacking during the past few months. And to 
 think that Rosaura should not love him, or that she 
 shduld accept him coldly — she who was so passion- 
 ate ! That she should treat him with hauteur — she 
 who was so gentle! That she should receive him 
 with resignation — she who was always so happy in 
 contributing to the pleasure of others! 
 
 Irurtia was right to ponder the matter; he was 
 right to complain in the midst of his prosperity, like 
 that pessimistic and disillusioned king Solomon. 
 
 His common sense, his flair for realities, his per- 
 spicacious judgment of things did not abandon him 
 in his love affair — a matter in which most men 
 lose their reason, their judgment, and even that 
 common sense which is the talent of the mediocre. 
 Rosaura had agreed to marry him; but at what a 
 price! Life ended for her on the day on which 
 she had accepted him; and on that same day, in that 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 297 
 
 very moment began a life of gloom, a hellish exist- 
 ence, the tortures of the damned — all gnashing of 
 teeth, all tears. 
 
 First of all she had yielded to the insistence of 
 Olga, who urged her day and night. She sacrificed 
 herself for her niece. Olga asked it? How refuse 
 to please her? How deny Olga the rest of her ex- 
 istence, when she had dedicated the best years of 
 her youth to her niece? 
 
 •Andres Rata likewise urged her, placing her be- 
 tween the sword and the wall with his flattering 
 arguments. She was going to be the woman of gold, 
 the queen of Caracas, the mistress of the nation, 
 perhaps the wife of the future president of the 
 Republic! What mattered gold to her! What 
 mattered it to her to be the wife of the president, to 
 be queen, to be a flattered leader of such a vile 
 society! And even if the society were not so loath- 
 some ! She longed only for an obscure life, a silent, 
 Christian existence — until there should come the 
 hour — and would to God it came quickly — of a 
 good death. 
 
 General Chicharra was no less insistent. He ap- 
 pealed on behalf of his wife, of Tula his first-born ; 
 of his other daughters, of everybody. His ingenious 
 mind had recourse to multiple and varied appeals. 
 
 Alcira herself — though indirectly, won over by 
 Olga, deceived by Chicharra, wheedled by Andres 
 Rata and coaxed by the members of the Chicharra 
 family — contributed to the result. 
 
 Rosaura was surrounded by a conspiracy — a plot 
 against her spinsterhood, an assault upon her soli- 
 tude, an imposition upon her good faith, a strong 
 
298 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 summons to her noble heart. She protested, she 
 wept, she begged; in vain. None had pity. She 
 could not oppose them all; at last she succumbed. 
 From that moment her bosom resembled a cushion 
 riddled with daggers and her face was that of a 
 Dolorosa. 
 
 Irurtia, then, had only too many reasons for not 
 feeling quite content with the kind of love he in- 
 spired, with the hand that was offered him, with his 
 sunken-eyed, resigned future wife — the victim of 
 life and a prey to grief. 
 
 In his senile, almost retrospective love, in his 
 tardy passion, Irurtia, who now lacked nothing ex- 
 cept a happy heart, the comforts of old age, the 
 spice of life, a family, a home ■ — sighed for what he 
 did not have: for the mate who is content with and 
 proud of her husband, for the satisfied woman who 
 casts about her a glow of affection, the tranquillity 
 of intimacy, domestic happiness. 
 
 This Rosaura did not at all resemble the Rosaura 
 of his dreams. He was going to take into his house 
 a tear rather than a sunbeam. 
 
 He was aroused from his thoughts by a respectful, 
 timid knock at the door. It was the minister's 
 private secretary, who asked permission to hand him 
 a batch of letters and periodicals. 
 
 Before opening his correspondence, Irurtia turned 
 to the newspapers, skimming the pages in a rapid 
 survey. He glanced only at the headlines, and, 
 if there were any, the signatures. The only thing 
 that interested him in that confusion of black and 
 white was his name. With practise he had acquired 
 an incredible skill in this hunt after his own name; 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 299 
 
 always he would fall upon his name in the midst of 
 the gray steppe of the print, with the voracity of a 
 condor, of a white eagle, of a hawk, or a falcon upon 
 its prey. No longer was he filled with his old fear 
 of the press. How much honey could flow in the 
 printer's ink! Besides, a Minister of Finance in 
 Venezuela has no fear of anything. 
 
 At last he began to tear open envelopes and read 
 or half read a large number of letters. Some he 
 marked with a blue pencil; others, with a red; two 
 or three cabalistic signs were enough for him. The 
 secretary would know how to answer them; it was 
 for this purpose he was now sorting them out. 
 
 While the secretary was busy classifying the cor- 
 respondence, Irurtia, with a sheet before his eyes, 
 remained absorbed in meditation, as if this missive 
 had awakened a recollection. 
 
 It was a letter from Cirilo Matamoros. 
 
 The poor man besought don CamUo not to forget 
 him in his imprisonment. He had placed all his 
 hope in Irurtia, who was now all-powerful. The 
 trial had already cost him a great deal of money, and 
 the end was not in sight. He had been compelled 
 to close up his pulperia, and to surrender his land 
 and property as payment to his creditors — to those 
 cursed Germans of Caracas who did not feel the 
 slightest compassion for him in his misfortune. Don 
 Camilo would not be like the German bloodsuckers: 
 he would be moved by Matamoros' sad plight. 
 
 After the signature came a postcript: 
 
 My wife went daily for a month to your 
 new house, to entreat a favor of you, our 
 
300 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 only recourse in our terrible position. The 
 doorkeeper would not let her pass, nor even 
 tell Tomasa that she was there. I blame 
 nobody but my luck, which is bad indeed. 
 Don't forget me in my misfortune, don 
 Camilo. 
 
 Don Camilo took a pen and wrote: 
 
 Friend Matamoros: 
 
 I have received your letter and answer 
 it at once in my own handwriting. This 
 should serve to console you and indicate 
 how highly I esteem, you. 
 
 I have done, and will continue to do, 
 all I can for you, although during the past 
 few weeks because of an avalanche of 
 work, the matter slipped my mind. But 
 above all, have confidence in the judges, 
 and in the righteousness of your cause. 
 
 Don't forget that I am in a very delicate 
 position and that I have no right in my ca- 
 pacity as minister, to influence any judge, 
 without exposing myself to the penalty of 
 the laws, and without discrediting the 
 administration which I have the honor of 
 serving. I repeat: your case is a good one. 
 I have absolute confidence in the honesty 
 and the rectitude of our judiciary. 
 
 Tomasa sends you her kindest regards. 
 I am, your affectionate friend, 
 
 CAMILO IRURTIA 
 
IRURTIA, MINISTER OF FINANCE 301 
 
 Don Camilo was already getting to know politics. 
 The famous general Aquiles Chicharra had lost no 
 time. Had he read Irurtia's reply, the master 
 would not have been ashamed of his pupil. 
 
VIII 
 THE RIDDLE 
 
 A WARM, golden summer afternoon. 
 The waning sun tips with flame the summits 
 of the hUls of Caracas toward the south. The 
 houses in the Paraiso section, amid the gardens on 
 either side of the Avenue, swarm with women. The 
 meadows of the Guayre, with their breath of the 
 fields, temper the dying fires of day. The river 
 Guayre itself exhales its cool freshness and glides 
 along under the iron bridges, perhaps recalling other 
 happier days, when it was a personage of greater 
 account in the city. 
 
 The pedestrians walk along the sidewalks in a 
 leisurely procession, meditatively and considerately. 
 The roadway is packed with carriages. From count- 
 less houses flash women's smiles in the direction 
 of an elegant victoria, at whose passage the strollers, 
 here and there, doff their hats most deferentially. 
 It is the President, the tin-god. 
 
 Somewhat further back another victoria attracts 
 smiles, although not so expressive as the previous 
 ones, and doflfings of the hat, though less deferential. 
 
 This coach contains the Minister of Finance and 
 the Minister of Internal Affairs: Camilo Irurtia, 
 very prim and spruce, and Aquiles Chicharra, lean- 
 ing back most contentedly with his legs spread out. 
 
 "You see what the world is, don Camilo," said 
 
 302 
 
THE RIDDLE 303 
 
 Chicharra to his companion. "But a short while ago 
 not one of these women knew you. Now they all 
 bathe you in smiles." 
 
 "Let's talk of serious matters. Do you know what 
 occurs to me? That neither I, because of my rela- 
 tions with Rosaura, nor you, as the husband of an 
 Agualonga, ought to be out on a public drive, seeing 
 that Eufemia's death took place so recently." 
 
 "Recently? From the looks of things neither 
 days, weeks nor months pass as far as you're con- 
 cerned. , . . Besides, friend Irurtia, we are public 
 figures; we belong more to the nation than to our 
 families; we are, in short, exempt from certain mere 
 formalities." 
 
 Chicharra bowed to two or three others, to right 
 and to left, and then continued: 
 
 "Speaking of the family, just listen to me: Aquiles 
 Chicharra never forgets his friends, his relatives or 
 his collaborators. The result is one of the public 
 and private virtues of Aquiles Chicharra. Or, to 
 put it in a better way: among the faijlts of which 
 his many and undeserved enemies accuse Aquiles 
 Chicharra, there may not be reckoned forgetfulness 
 of his relatives or friends." 
 
 Irurtia could not understand where aU this ex- 
 ordium was leading to. Chicharra, according to his 
 custom, did not go straight to the point ; but at last, 
 when he could no longer draw out his empty pro- 
 logue, he expressed his thought. 
 
 He wished Irurtia's support in obtaining a con- 
 sulate for Andres Rata. Although both the num- 
 ber and the salary of the consuls had been reduced 
 as a result of Irurtia's program, Chicharra wished to 
 
304 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 keep the promise he had given Olga, and to satisfy 
 Andres. Don Camilo, who was so intimately asso- 
 ciated with the Agualonga family, ought to support 
 the candidacy of the journalist. 
 
 "But you're not talking to the point at all, my 
 dear General," replied don Camilo. "These people 
 haven't been giving a thought to consulates for some 
 time. And neither does Rosaura care to have Olga 
 leave the country." 
 
 "That can't be. Why, every day Andres keeps 
 begging me to intercede and have him named consul 
 to some place or other, even to Haiti; and, moreover, 
 since I promised Olga some time ago that I'd make a 
 consul of her husband, I'd like to keep my word. 
 Ingratitude in matters of friendship, family rela- 
 tions or party associates is, as I have already said, 
 not among the defects that Aquiles Chicharra may 
 be accused of by his many, gratuitous, odious and 
 cowardly enemies." 
 
 "We're not talking of enemies now, but of your 
 relatives. General. And I repeat: you're on the 
 wrong track. They don't want to be consuls or 
 proconsuls. Olga herself told me so a hundred 
 times." 
 
 "Here's a riddle, then! The one begs me for it, 
 the other refuses it from you: a riddle! It'll be 
 best for me to solve it at once. I'll see Olga, whom 
 I haven't seen in God knows how long." 
 
 "That would be the best and most practical 
 thing : and as soon as we know what they want — 
 according to the desires they make known to you, 
 in whom they have greater confidence — we'll see 
 about getting it for them." 
 
THE RIDDLE 305 
 
 "And what about Rosaura? She doesn't want 
 Olga to leave the country, does she? Hasn't she 
 asked you for something different?" 
 
 "How little you know her! She hasn't it in her 
 to ask me for anything. The best thing would be 
 for Olga and Rata to get together, decide on some- 
 thing, and speak up clearly." 
 
 Irurtia was right. ... 
 
 Somewhat later the minister of finance ordered 
 the coachman to take him home; and Chicharra, 
 with nothing on hand before dinner, and seizing his 
 opportunity, went off to Olga's house. 
 
 There was indeed a riddle. 
 
 Olga, who had always dreamed of travel and ad- 
 venture, had, before Irurtia and Chicharra became 
 ministers, desired a consulate for Andres; it was to 
 aid Andres in becoming a consul that she had lent 
 her collaboration to the famous ball. On his side, 
 Andres, ever since Chicharra and Irurtia had become 
 ministers, had ceased to aspire to a consulship. His 
 ambition had risen. He had even imagined himself 
 occupying a customs office, as administrator and 
 inspector. So much business is done in a customs 
 house and a functionary of this branch could get 
 rich so quickly! But the roles had changed. No 
 longer did Andres dream- of beaches nor of Ven- 
 ezuela's golden strands; rather, he was pressing in 
 his requests for some foreign office, anywhere at all, 
 "even in Haiti," while Olga, despite her roving spirit 
 and the fascination exercised upon her by the un- 
 known, refused to leave her native land for any con- 
 sideration whatsoever, even if she were flogged. 
 
 Aquiles determined to solve the riddle, not out of 
 
306 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 mere curiosity, but also because he wished to satisfy 
 the journalist, to whom he was indebted for so many 
 kindly journaUstic favors, and who always lent him- 
 self with the most humble compliance to whatever 
 was required. Besides, Andres could be of use to 
 him in the future. Henee Chicharra's boasting of 
 his fidelity to friends. Hence, too, when he left 
 Irurtia, his visit to Olga. 
 
 The latter found it easy to convince Aquiles. 
 
 Leave the country? How silly! None could un- 
 derstand this better than Chicharra himself, with his 
 acute penetration! He, a lynx, a Machiavelli, with 
 eyes that could pierce the densest darkness — eyes 
 of a nyctalops — and a brain that could fathom the 
 most abstruse questions — how could he miss seeing 
 the advantage that Andres and herself would reap 
 by remaining in Caracas! In the first place, Irurtia. 
 There was no trusting don Camilo too much : he was 
 wUy, and as slippery as soap; quite capable, at 
 the very last moment, finding himself surrounded 
 by adulation and power, to betray his word and 
 renounce the marriage. In that case all their pre- 
 paratory labors would go to naught, and how many 
 smiling hopes ! For ministries pass ; and the money, 
 the fortune, the don Camilo of gold, remain. 
 
 In the second place : Andres. Did Chicharra, who 
 was so prudent, just, fair, imagine that Andres was 
 going abroad to die of hunger, or live from hand to 
 mouth like any ordinary poor devil, like Tom, Dick 
 or Harry, who are named consul because they're the 
 nephew of the cousin of a man who knows a min- 
 ister? Andres had lent valuable services in the 
 press. He was lending them now. He would lend 
 
THE RIDDLE 307 
 
 them in the future. And all this gratis, as a voca- 
 tion, through love of the work, through party spirit. 
 And now, was he to be paid off with a consulate? 
 Now, when he had his own uncle Chicharra as min- 
 ister of the interior — Chicharra, one of the most 
 finely balanced minds in the republic, and one of 
 the foremost statesmen of the country? 
 
 Nor would she say anything about Irurtia, she 
 averred, since he was a novice in politics, and did 
 not know that in politics some are of stone and others 
 of sand. But this very Irurtia — she was none the 
 less sure — would hold out a friendly hand to Andres 
 and help him to a position of advantage, at least, 
 if not of eminence, and commensurate with his list 
 of gratuitous services. It was all as clear as day: 
 they ought to remain in Caracas. 
 
 And she had not mentioned still another very, 
 very important reason: Rosaura. How abandon 
 Rosaura, whom she loved as one loves a mother, 
 Rosaura, who was so dispirited since Eufemia's 
 death! She had been getting thinner and thinner, 
 until she looked like a skeleton; she, who formerly 
 had been so plump. She cried without ceasing; 
 it was easily to be seen that she was going through 
 unspeakable agony;, she was unhappy. It looked 
 to Olga as if Eufemia's case were being reproduced 
 in the sister. How forsake her under such circum-i 
 stances! It would be monstrous. 
 
 Chicharra was convinced. 
 
 "You're mofe than right, my girl," he confessed. 
 "And I hadn't thought of any of the things you've 
 told me. The fool knows more in his own house 
 than the wise man does in somebody else's." 
 
308 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Olga, smiling at the word "fool," replied: 
 
 "Thanks, Uncle." 
 
 "No, no; pardon me, my dear niece. That's a 
 proverb. These matters you've just told me hadn't 
 occurred to me, because politics absorbs me; prob- 
 lems of State fill my time and my brain." 
 
 At this moment Andres entered the room. He 
 had just returned from the office. 
 
 Aquiles was very much delighted. Olga was de- 
 lighted very much less. 
 
 "You've come just in time," said Chicharra. 
 "And now let's solve the puzzle." 
 
 "What puzzle?" queried Andres. 
 
 "Don't you think it's a puzzle, and a Chinese 
 puzzle, at that — a regular brain-splitter — when 
 you ask me for a consulate while Olga urges me not 
 to give it to you? Her reasons are sound." 
 
 "So are mine." 
 
 "Ah! Then you don't agree on it?" asked the 
 general, jestingly, "Have we clouds on the domestic 
 horizon? Bah, these are mere summer cloudlets. 
 A little shower of tears from Olga; or a few rolls of 
 thunder and flashes of lightning from Andres — and 
 it's all over." 
 
 Husband and wife both protested. Summer 
 cloudlets! Not a one! What a notion!" 
 
 "Olga has just been telling me her reasons for 
 not thinking it advisable to leave Venezuela at 
 this time. She has convinced me. But neither of 
 you has told me what you aspire to." 
 
 "A post in the President's secretariat," interposed 
 Olga, "would probably satisfy Andres." 
 
 "I don't want any secretarial positions." 
 
THE RIDDLE 309- 
 
 "A directorship in a ministry?" suggested Chi- 
 charra. 
 
 "Not that either." 
 
 The general was of the opinion that unless they 
 both agreed on something, it would be difficult to 
 get Andres a place. For every public office there 
 were forty candidates, even before the position was 
 vacant. • 
 
 Now Andres explained his eagerness for a consular 
 position. He wished to make the sea-voyage for 
 reasons of health. Besides, his mind needed a 
 change from that overheated atmosphere of polit- 
 ical hatred. And finally, he wished to write a work 
 upon The Pioneers of The Liberal Cause in Ven- 
 ezuela; for this purpose he needed to consult foreign 
 archives and the documents they contained and to 
 spend one or two years working, far from the drudg- 
 ery of journalism. 
 
 These reasons, and especially the last, struck the 
 famous Aquiles as being of substantial importance. 
 In his mind he ran over his own biographical data 
 and prepared to write them out and give them to 
 Andres. Chicharra could already behold himself in 
 the company of General Guzman Blanco and the 
 lawyer J. P. Rojas Paul, not far from don Vicente 
 Amengual, in the gallery of the notables of Ven- 
 ezuelan liberalism. 
 
 Thus, after having agreed to Olga's reasons, he 
 subscribed to Andres's reasons likewise. He agreed 
 fuUy with both. And both were dissatisfied. 
 
 "Weather-vane!" accused Olga, smilingly. 
 
 And Andres, smiling too, cried: 
 
 "Weather-vane!" 
 
310 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 Chicharra left the house, deceived by both Olga 
 and Andres. Neither had told him a word of the 
 truth, 
 
 Olga wished to remain in Caracas because she was 
 in love; Andres desired to leave because he was 
 jealous. 
 
 It was all the bull-fighter's fault — that hairless 
 Spaniard with the conical hat, whom Chicharra had 
 bumped into one day in Andres Rata's zagudn. 
 
 The latter knew the sort of stout horns with which 
 his wife had begun to deck him. Had he not learned 
 of it for himself, there were not lacking those who 
 were ready to hold up the mirror before him. 
 
 He had received about a hundred anonymous 
 notes; his friends let out hints; hostile periodicals 
 printed jesting insinuations, and the cartoonists be- 
 gan to draw caricatures representing him bearing 
 short horns, his curly hair in front standing dis- 
 hevelled on end, like the legs of a scorpion — or 
 rather, resembling a heifer's little horns. In his song, 
 this poet was like a bird; his horns related him to the 
 stag: he was an elaphornithoid poet. Had he been 
 capable of procreation, he would have engendered 
 an ornothaurus. All Caracas knew this except the 
 perspicacious Aquiles. 
 
 Andres Rata lacked the courage to prevent the 
 barbarian of a bull-fighter from continuing his re- 
 lations with Olga, or rather, to wash away the insult 
 with blood; and he lacked the character to dominate 
 Olga. He chose flight — leaving Venezuela with his 
 wife. 
 
 Time would not file away his horns, but perhaps it 
 would work the miracle of making Caracas forget 
 
THE RIDDLE 311 
 
 them, or at least, of so habituating the city to 
 them that it would no longer besmear the husband's 
 reputation, nor riddle the minotaurized fellow with 
 arrows, nor enUven the newspaper pages with those 
 caricatures that represented him with scorpion horns 
 growing from his temples. 
 
 In order to win Chicharra's support in the matter 
 of asking a consulate, and knowing Chicharra's 
 colossal vanity, he had conceived the strategic refer- 
 ence to his work upon Liberal notables. He had 
 never had any intention of writing any such work. 
 "Notables! . . ."he thought to himself. "Pigs! 
 , . . now they leave me face to face with my 
 shame! Let the bull-fighters of Spain write them 
 up in the newspapers!" 
 
 As for Olga, she felt that she was truly in love 
 this time — in love as never before — madly in love. 
 
 She had seen the torero Feuco for the first time in 
 the ring, at an afternoon performance. The gladi- 
 ator's notoriety, aureoled in glory, turned the giddy- 
 pated girl's heart. She returned to the plaza on 
 other afternoons and wore out her palms applauding 
 the espada. 
 
 But Eufemia had died and Olga could attend no 
 more bull-fights. 
 
 A pity! The tickets were sent to Andres's office, 
 and were complimentary admissions. Happily there 
 lives in this world that kind goddess, accident. One 
 day Olga went to her dressmaker — a Spanish 
 woman — to try on a mourning-dress that she was 
 to wear in memory of Eufemia, and there she met 
 the bull-fighter, a Sevillian, as was the modiste; the 
 torero, indeed, had been friends with the dressmaker 
 in Spain. 
 
312 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 During the fitting of the dress Olga praised the 
 art of the matador so highly, that, when she left, 
 the modiste thought she would be pleasing her cus- 
 tomer by remarking to the torero: 
 
 "Feuco, this lady is a great admirer of yours." 
 
 The torero muttered something, respectful and 
 confused at the same time; but Olga cast a glance at 
 him — a single glance — one of those with which a 
 woman surrenders herself to a man. 
 
 That was enough. 
 
 They met again, and yet again, as if by accident, 
 at the home of the obliging and complaisant Spanish 
 seamstress. Afterwards they met elsewhere. 
 
 Then came the Carnival. One afternoon she told 
 her husband that she was going over to see the 
 Agualongas; but the toreador was already awaiting 
 her in a coach with their disguises prepared. They 
 played carnival in fine fashion, even with Andres 
 Rata, whom they came upon during the day. 
 
 This torero, who was more bestial than his bulls, 
 and more powerful, could scarcely do anything but 
 roar; but his masculine character dominated the 
 female dominator. For the first time in her life 
 Olga knew the love of an intensely virile man, of 
 a breeding male; and for the first time she surren- 
 dered her will. . . . This brutish, brutal bully im- 
 posed his will upon the gilded, reasoning tigress 
 with the beautiful body and the horrible soul. 
 
 Feuco, having learned through Olga of Andres's 
 consular ambitions, made his concubine swear that 
 she would never leave Caracas while he was perform- 
 ing there. Feuco, a vainglorious scoundrel, de- 
 sired to exhibit his conquest. He looked forward 
 
THE RIDDLE 3ia 
 
 also to having Olga elope with him to Mexico, 
 whither he would go when his Caracas contract ex- 
 pired. 
 
 "I must draw the line at that, Feuco," said Olga. 
 
 And Feuco replied: 
 
 "Very well: I'U go alone." 
 
 In tiie meantime, neither Andres Rata, nor 
 Aquiles Chicharra, nor Canulo Irurtia, nor Man- 
 diga*" himself were able to get Olga away from 
 Caracas and the arms of the bull-fighter Feuco. 
 
 *• An "Americanism" equivalent, in this instance, to our "the 
 devil" or "the deuce." 
 
IX 
 ACTiEON'S TRADE 
 
 WIEN, that night, Irurtia appeared in the 
 Municipal Theatre, at about nine o'clock, he 
 was greeted with a thunderous outburst of applause. 
 The famUy-circle wearied its arms in enthusiastic 
 clapping. In the pit, the men rose to their feet. 
 The women in the boxes directed their opera-glasses 
 at the recently arrived minister. 
 
 "What's taking place?" asked a certain red-faced 
 Muscovite who had landed the night before at La 
 Guaira. "Why this unanimous enthusiasm at the 
 presence of this naan? Is he the head of the nation? 
 Is he some general that has triumphed over foreign 
 enemies? Has he performed some signal service for 
 his country?" 
 
 "He's simply a former broker," was the reply, 
 "and is now Minister of Finance and Public Credit. 
 But at this day he is, next to the President, the most 
 powerful of our citizens. He is also the only hope 
 of our country." 
 
 "The only hope?" 
 
 They had to explain it to him. 
 
 The President, a cruel, rapacious fellow, repre- 
 senting the military barbarocracy, and receiving the 
 support of the vilest and most reactionary elements 
 of the Republic, exercised an almost military dic- 
 
 314 
 
ACTuEON'S TRADE 315 
 
 tatorship rather than a civil government. His 
 cronies of Caracas, the mountain savages, and the 
 servile creatures of the whole nation, worshipped 
 him on their knees, as if he were an idol; in like 
 manner he was adored by as many rascals who 
 yearned for monopolies, and by all who exploited 
 such powers, by aU the sons of fraud, all the fathers 
 of speculation, all the veterans of political crime: 
 those whose hands and consciences were equally 
 filthy, those without scruple or shame. On the 
 other hand he was considered with a hidden hatred 
 — a hatred all the more intense on that account — 
 by the sound part of the nation-— the men who 
 toiled, who studied, who lived decent lives. And 
 with no attempt to hide their feelings, the people 
 detested him before his very face. 
 
 By one of the many whims of his neuropathic 
 temperament, the President had resolved to retire 
 for several months to private life in the country. 
 
 The Vice-President, one of the most stalwart bul- 
 warks of autocracy, and a former butcher of 
 Tachira who had achieved wealth and repute under 
 his patron's favor, was thus left at the head of the 
 government. The republic did not hate him as much 
 as it hated the President; but it detested him far 
 more. 
 
 Despite his many defects, the President possessed 
 authentic virtues, such as courage and patriotism — 
 a patriotism of his own kind, but none the less un- 
 deniable. The Vice-President, named Juan Bisonte, 
 was not in the least bit distinguished; his intelli- 
 gence was that of a mole; his hypocrisy, that of a 
 Jesuit; his heart, that of a slave; his cowardice, 
 
316 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 that of a hermaphrodite janissary. His only god 
 was money; his only thirst, that for gold; his only 
 virtue, that of fidelity to his protector, the President. 
 
 The latter knew him as a most incapable person, 
 and despised him as the vilest of his lackeys. Where- 
 fore, though leaving him according to legislative 
 mandate as the nominal head of the government, 
 the magistrate brought Irurtia to the presidential 
 palace at Miraflores, installed him there as his 
 representative and made him the genuine direc- 
 tor of the executive department — the responsible 
 head. 
 
 Irurtia was thus made the chief figure of the 
 administration; Bisonte, the figurehead, 
 
 Irurtia, then, the former broker, was the President 
 of the Republic. 
 
 The stranger to whom these details of Venezuelan 
 politics were made known, then said: 
 
 "But does the presidency of the republic in itself 
 inspire so much respect in Venezuela that they 
 applaud him who holds the office, even if he be 
 nothing but a barefaced broker?" 
 
 "No, it isn't that." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 It was a complicated matter. They explained it 
 anew. 
 
 They hated the President, they despised the Vice- 
 President and were anxious to get rid of both. By 
 applauding Irurtia, by showering him with adulation 
 and fawning, they tried to awaken in him the ambi- 
 tion for supreme command. None better than 
 Irurtia, because of his present situation and his 
 wealth, to effect a coup d'etat, overthrow those who 
 
AGTiEON'S TRADE 317 
 
 now usurped the power, and rise, with the good 
 wishes of all, to the canopied throne of the President. 
 A hundred elements of conspiracy were ah-eady en- 
 veloping him and directing him. This thunderous 
 applause was the work of a hired claque, prepared 
 behind the scenes by skilful masters of Venezuelan 
 politics. 
 
 Camilo Irurtia, yesterday a despised broker, a 
 social corpuscle without a name and worth no more 
 than his hidden gold sacks, was now the most power- 
 ful, most adulated, most happy of men, the arbiter 
 of the republic and its most shining hope. 
 
 When Andres Rata came home from Irurtia's 
 apotheosis, he experienced the blackest, most un- 
 happy hours in his life of professional adulation. 
 Poor hired journalist! 
 
 His wife was not there. 
 
 On the night-table lay a brief, tragic note ex- 
 plaining her absence. Olga told him in those few 
 lines that she had fled in quest of that happiness 
 which he had not been able to give her. 
 
 Nervous and broken, Andres Rata could not sleep 
 all night. 
 
 Dawn found him at Miraflores. When the doors 
 opened, he entered, before the baker and the milk- 
 man. 
 
 Irurtia had not yet arisen, and Andres Rata had 
 to wait for about two hours before the minister could 
 receive him. 
 
 When Irurtia learned of Olga's flight he raised his 
 hands to his head: 
 
 "But that creature is a madwoman. The spatter 
 
318 THE MAN OF GOLD 
 
 of this mud will doubtless soil even me. Rosaura 
 will surely die of shame and grief." 
 
 Andres begged him to have Olga detained at La 
 Guaira. Irurtia himself telephoned to that place 
 on the very instant. 
 
 The torero Feuco — they replied — had just left, 
 accompanied by a woman whom they did not know, 
 on a vessel that had weighed anchor at seven that 
 morning, bound for Cuba and Mexico. 
 
 "I can't remain in Caracas," groaned Andres 
 Rata. "Just imagine how my enemies will feed 
 upon my misfortune!" 
 
 He asked for any consulate at all. 
 
 "Before noon," replied Irurtia, "you'll have the 
 appointment in your house. I'll have your travel- 
 ing expenses sent along at the same time, and ad- 
 vance pay for five or six months. Flee at once. 
 If there's any boat that leaves between now and 
 nightfall, leave this very day. If not, tomorrow, 
 by the Royal Mail, Good-bye. Be sure and write 
 to me." 
 
 When Andres returned to his home he gathered 
 together the things he needed most, a trunk and a 
 valise; he wrote a brother to see to the clearing of 
 the house and to the settlement of his private affairs. 
 That same afternoon he left on a Dutch steamer. 
 
 Wearied from not having slept the night before, 
 that night on board he slumbered soundly. The fol- 
 lowing day he arose very early; and scarcely had he 
 finished his breakfast when he started a poem 
 against his wife, calling her traitress. 
 
 Ever since then, what has the minotaur done but 
 sing of his horns, calling his wife perfidious in in- 
 
ACTiEON'S TRADE 319 
 
 sipid stanzas and exploiting the compassion that 
 he arouses in the unwary. His misfortune has been 
 his trade. If it may be said of any Venezuelan 
 writer that he has lived by his head, that writer is 
 Andres Rata. 
 
 PoRNiCHET, 1913. — Madrid, 1914. 
 
 THE END