The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer) Read online

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  THE ENEMIES OF WOMEN

  WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE

  MARE NOSTRUM (OUR SEA)

  BLOOD AND SAND

  LA BODEGA (THE FRUIT OF THE VINE)

  THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL

  WOMAN TRIUMPHANT

  MEXICO IN REVOLUTION

  _In Preparation_

  THE ARGONAUTS

  E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

  THE ENEMIESOF WOMEN

  _(LOS ENEMIGOS DE LA MUJER)_

  BYVICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ

  TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISHBYIRVING BROWN

  colophon]

  NEW YORKE. P. DUTTON & COMPANY681 FIFTH AVENUE

  Copyright, 1918, by E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

  _All Rights Reserved_

  _First printing Oct., 1920_ _Second printing Oct., 1920_ _Third printing Oct., 1920_ _Fourth printing Oct., 1920_ _Fifth printing Oct., 1920_ _Sixth printing Oct., 1920_ _Seventh printing Oct., 1920_ _Eighth printing Oct., 1920_ _Ninth printing Oct., 1920_ _Tenth printing Oct., 1920_

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. 1

  II. 28

  III. 71

  IV. 103

  V. 151

  VI. 189

  VII. 260

  VIII. 324

  IX. 371

  X. 450

  XI. 499

  XII. 512

  THE ENEMIES OF WOMEN

  CHAPTER I

  The Prince repeated his statement:

  "Man's greatest wisdom consists in getting along without women."

  He intended to go on but was interrupted. There was a slight stir of theheavy window curtains. Through their parting was seen below, as in aframe, the intense azure of the Mediterranean. A dull roar reached thedining-room. It seemed to come from the side of the house facing theAlps. It was a faint vibration, deadened by the walls, the curtains, andthe carpets, distant, like the working of some underground monster; butthere rose above the sound of revolving steel and the puffing of steam aclamor of human beings, a sudden burst of shouts and whistling.

  "A train full of soldiers!" exclaimed Don Marcos Toledo, leaving hischair.

  "The Colonel is at it again, always the hero, always enthusiastic abouteverything that has to do with his profession," said Atilio Castro, witha smile of amusement.

  In spite of his years, the man whom they called the Colonel sprang tothe nearest window. Above the foliage of the sloping garden, he couldsee a small section of the Corniche railroad, swallowed up in the smokyentrance of a tunnel, and reappearing farther on, beyond the hill,among the groves and rose colored villas of Cap-Martin. Under themid-day sun the rails quivered like rills of molten steel. Although thetrain had not yet reached this side of the tunnel, the wholecountry-side was filled with the ever-increasing roar. The windows,terraces, and gardens of the villas were dotted black with people whowere leaving their luncheon tables to see the train pass. From themountain slope to the seashore, from walls and buildings on both sidesof the track, flags of all colors began to wave.

  Don Marcos ran to the opposite window overlooking the city. All he couldsee was an expanse of roofs with no trace of Nature's touch save hereand there the feathery green of the gardens against the red of thetiles. It was like a stage setting broken into a succession of wings: inthe foreground, amid trees, isolated villas with green balustrades andflower-strewn walls; next, the mass of Monte Carlo, its huge hotelsbristling with pointed turrets and cupolas; and hazy in the background,as though floating in golden dust, the rocky cliffs of Monaco, with itspromenades; the enormous pile of the Oceanographic Museum; the NewCathedral, a glaring white; and the square crested tower of the palaceof the Prince. Buildings stretched from the edge of the sea halfway upthe mountains. It was a country without fields, with no open land,covered completely with houses, from one frontier to the other.

  But Don Marcos had known the view for years, and at once detected theunfamiliar detail. A long, interminable train was moving slowly alongthe hillside. He counted aloud more than forty cars, without coming tothe rear coaches still hidden in a hollow.

  "It must be a battalion ... a whole battalion on a war footing. Morethan a thousand soldiers," he said in an authoritative manner, pleasedat showing off his keen professional judgment before his fellow guests,who, for that matter, were not listening.

  The train was filled with men, tiny yellowish gray figures, thatgathered at the car windows, doors, and on the running-boards with theirfeet hanging over the track. Others were crowded in cattle pens or stoodon the open flat-cars, among the tanks and crated machine guns. A greatmany had climbed to the roofs and were greeting the crowds with arms andlegs extended in the shape of a letter X. Almost all of them had theirshirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, like sailors preparing tomaneuver.

  "They are English!" exclaimed Don Marcos. "English soldiers on their wayto Italy!"

  But this information seemed to irritate the Prince, who always spoke tohim in familiar language, in spite of the difference in their ages."Don't be absurd, Colonel. Anybody would know that. They are the onlyones who whistle."

  The men still seated at the table nodded. Military trains passed everyday, and from a distance it was possible to guess the nationality of thepassengers. "The French," said Castro, "go past silently. They have hada little over three years of fighting on their own soil. They are assilent and gloomy as their duty is monotonous and endless. The Italianscoming from the French front sing, and decorate their trains with greenbranches. The English shout like a lot of boys, just out of school, andin their enthusiasm, whistle all the time. They are the real children inthis war; they go with a sort of boyish glee to their death."

  The whistling sound drew nearer, shrill as the howling of a witches'Sabbath. It passed between the mountains and the gardens of VillaSirena; and then went on in the other direction, toward Italy, graduallygrowing fainter as it disappeared in the tunnel. Toledo, who was theonly one in the room to watch the train pass, noticed how the houses,gardens, and _potagers_ on both sides of the track were alive withpeople, waving handkerchiefs and flags in reply to the whistling of theEnglish. Even along the seashore the fishermen stood up on the seats oftheir boats and waved their caps at a distant train. The quick ear ofDon Marcos distinguished a sound of footsteps on the floor above. Theservants doubtless were opening the windows to join with silententhusiasm in that farewell.

  When only a few coaches were still visible at the mouth of the tunnel,the Colonel came back to his place at the table.

  "More meat for the slaughter house!" exclaimed Atilio Castro, looking atthe Prince. "The racket is over. Go on, Michael."

  Under Toledo's watchful eye, two beardless Italian boys, unprepossessingin appearance, were serving the dessert at the luncheon.

  The Colonel kept glancing over the table and at the faces of his threeguests, as though he were afraid of suddenly noticing something thatwould show the lunch had been hastily arranged. It was the first thathad been given at Villa Sirena for two years.

  The master of the house, Prince Michael Fedor Lubimoff, who sat at thehead of the table, h
ad arrived from Paris the evening before.

  The Prince was a man still in his youth, fresh with the well controlledvigor that is furnished by a life of physical exercise. He was tall,robust, and supple, of dark complexion, with large gray eyes, and amassive face, clean shaven. The scattered gray hairs at his templesseemed even more numerous in contrast with the blue-black of the rest.A number of premature wrinkles around the eyes, and two deep furrowsrunning from his wide nostrils to the corners of his mouth, were thefirst indication of weariness in a powerful organism that seemed to havelived too intensely, in the mistaken confidence that its reserve ofstrength was endless.

  The Colonel called him "Your Highness," as if Michael Fedor were amember of a ruling house, instead of a mere Russian prince. But this waswhen some one was present. It was a habit Don Marcos had adopted in thedays of the late Princess Lubimoff, to maintain the prestige of the son,whom he had known since the latter was a child. In their intimaterelations, when they were alone, he preferred to call him "Marquis,"Marquis de Villablanca, and the Prince was never successful indisturbing, by his witticisms on the subject, the precedence thusestablished by Don Marcos in his terms of respect. The title of RussianPrince was for those who are dazzled by the lofty sound of titles,without being able to appreciate their respective merits, and origins;as for himself, the Colonel preferred something nobler, the title ofSpanish Marquis, in spite of the fact that that title for Lubimoff wasquite unknown in Spain, and lacked official recognition.

  Toledo was well acquainted with Prince Michael's three guests.

  Atilio Castro was a fellow countryman, a Spaniard who had spent thegreater part of his life outside his own country. He affected greatintimacy with the Prince and, on the grounds of a distant bloodrelationship between them, even spoke to him with some familiarity. DonMarcos had a vague idea that the young Spaniard had been a consulsomewhere for a short time. Atilio was continually poking fun at himwithout his being always immediately aware of it. But the Colonel,seeing that it pleased "His Highness" greatly, felt no ill-will on thataccount.

  "A fine fellow, good hearted!" the Colonel often said, in speaking ofCastro. "He hasn't led a model life, he's a terrible gambler--but agentleman. Yes, sir, a real gentleman!"

  Michael Fedor defined his relative in other terms.

  "He has all the vices, and no defects."

  Don Marcos could never quite understand what that meant, butnevertheless it increased his esteem for Castro.

  The Prince was only two or three years older than Atilio, and yet theirages seemed much farther apart. Castro was over thirty-five, and somepeople thought him twenty-four. His face had an ingenuous, ratherchild-like expression, and it acquired a certain character of manliness,thanks solely to a dark red mustache, closely cropped. This tinymustache, and his glossy hair parted squarely in the middle, were themost prominent details of his features, except when he became excited.If his humor changed--which happened very rarely--the luster in hiseyes, the contraction of his mouth, and the premature wrinkles in hisforehead gave him an almost ominous expression, and suddenly he seemedto age by ten years.

  "A bad man to have for an enemy!" affirmed the Colonel. "It wouldn't doto get in his way."

  And not out of fear, but rather out of sincere admiration did theColonel speak admiringly of Castro's talents. He wrote poetry, paintedin water color, improvised songs at the piano, gave advice in matters offurniture and clothes, and was well versed in antiquities, and mattersof taste. Don Marcos knew no limits to that intelligence.

  "He knows everything," he would say. "If he would only stick to onething! If he would only work!"

  Castro was always elegantly dressed, and lived in expensive hotels; buthe had no regular income so far as was known. The Colonel suspected aseries of friendly little loans from the Prince. But the latter hadremained away from Monte Carlo almost since the beginning of the war,and Don Marcos used to meet Castro every winter living at the Hotel deParis, playing at the Casino, and associating with people of wealth.From time to time, on encountering the Colonel in the gaming rooms,Castro had asked him for a loan of "ten louis," an absolute necessityfor a gambler who had just lost his last stake and was anxious torecoup. But with more or less delay he had always returned the money.There was something mysterious about his life, according to Don Marcos.

  The two other guests seemed to him to live much less complex lives. Theone who had frequented the house for the longest period, was a darkyoung man, with a skin that was almost copper colored, a slight build,and long, straight hair. He was Teofilo Spadoni, a famous pianist.Spadoni's parents were Italian--this much was sure. No one could quitemake out where he had been born. At times he mentioned his birthplace asCairo, at other times, as Athens, or Constantinople, all the placeswhere his father, a poor Neapolitan tailor, had lived. No one wasastonished by such vagaries and absent-minded discrepancies on the partof the extraordinary virtuoso, who, the moment he left the piano, seemedto move in a world of dreams and to be quite incapable of adaptinghimself to any regular mode of life. After giving concerts in the largecapitals of Europe and South America, he had settled down at MonteCarlo, explaining his residence there by the war, while Don Marcosimputed it to his love of gambling. The Prince knew him through havingengaged him as a member of the orchestra on board his large yacht, theGaviota II, for a voyage around the world.

  Sitting beside the host was the last guest, the latest to frequent thehouse, a pale young man, tall, thin, and nearsighted, who was alwayslooking timidly around as though ill at ease. He was a professor fromSpain, a Doctor of Science, Carlos Novoa, who received a subsidy fromthe Spanish government to make certain studies in ocean fauna at theOceanographic Museum. The Colonel who had spent many years at MonteCarlo without running across any of his compatriots, other than thosewhom he saw around the roulette tables, had expressed a certainpatriotic pride in meeting this professor two months previously.

  "A man of learning! A famous scientist!" he exclaimed in speaking of hisnew friend. "They can say all they want now about us Spaniards beingignoramuses."

  He had only the vaguest notion of the nature of his fellow countryman'slearning. What is more: from his earliest conversations he had guessedthat the professor's ideas were directly opposed to his own. "One ofthose heretics with no other God than matter," he said to himself. Buthe added by way of consolation: "All those learned men are like that:liberals and free-thinkers. What of it...." As for the professor's fame,in the opinion of Don Marcos it was unquestionable. Otherwise why wouldthey have sent him to the Oceanographic Museum, large and white as atemple, whose halls he had visited only once, with a feeling of awe thathad prevented him from ever going back again.

  On the occasional evenings when the professor would go to Monte Carloand chance to meet Don Marcos, the latter would present him to hisfriends as a national celebrity. In this fashion Novoa had made theacquaintance of Castro and Spadoni, who never asked him more than howhis luck was going.

  When the coming of the Prince was announced, Toledo insisted that hisillustrious friend the Professor should accompany him to the station inorder to lose no time in introducing him to "His Highness."

  "One of our country's prides.... Your Highness is so fond of everythingSpanish."

  Michael Fedor had spent a considerable portion of his life on the sea,and felt a certain sympathy for the modest young man, on learning of thestudies in which he specialized.

  They talked for a long time about oceanography, and the following dayPrince Michael, who was in the habit of entertaining elaborately at histable the most divergent kinds of guests, said to his "chamberlain":

  "Your scholar is a very fine fellow. Invite him to luncheon."

  The guests all spoke Spanish. Spadoni was able to follow theconversation, with the little he had picked up while giving pianorecitals in Buenos Ayres, Santiago, and other South American capitals.He had been there with an impresario, who finally got tired of backinghim, and struggling with his childish irresponsibility.

  As the
y were sitting down at the table, the Colonel noticed that thePrince seemed preoccupied with some absorbing meditation. He made apoint of talking with Professor Novoa, expressing his surprise at theslight compensation the scientist received for his studies.

  Castro and Spadoni gave their whole attention to their food. The days ofthe famous chef, to whom Prince Michael gave a salary worthy of a PrimeMinister, were over. The "master" had been mobilized and at that momentwas cooking for a general on the French front. However, Toledo hadmanaged to discover a woman of some fifty years, whose combinationswere less varied, perhaps, than those of the artist whom the war hadsnatched away, but more "classical," more solid and substantial--and thetwo men ate with the delight of people who, forever obliged to eat inrestaurants and hotels, at last find themselves at a table where noeconomy or falsifications are practised.

  About dessert time the conversation, becoming general, turned, as alwayshappens when men are dining alone, to the subject of women. Toledo had afeeling that the Prince had gently steered the guests' talk in thisdirection. Suddenly Michael summed up his whole argument by declaring asecond time:

  "Man's greatest wisdom consists in getting along without women."

  And then had followed the long interruption as the train of Englishsoldiers, in a whirl of shouts, whistling and hissing, had gone by.

  Atilio Castro waited until the last car had disappeared in the tunnel,and said with a subtle and somewhat ironical smile:

  "The shouting and whistling sound like a mixture of applause and scornfor your profound remark. However, please don't bother with suchinexpert opinion. What you said interests me. You abominate women, youwho have had thousands of them!... Go on, Michael!"

  But the Prince changed the conversation. He spoke of his impressions onreturning to Villa Sirena after a long absence. Nothing remained torecall the former days, before the war, save the building and thegardens. All the men servants were mobilized: some in the French army,others in the Italian. The day after his arrival he had asked, as amatter of course, for an auto to go to Monte Carlo. There was no lack ofmachines. Three, of the best make, were lying as though forgotten, inthe garage. But the chauffeurs too were at the front; and moreoverthere was no gasoline; and a permit was necessary to use the roads....In short, he had been obliged to stand at the iron gate of the gardenand wait for the Manton electric. It was a novelty for him, aninteresting means of locomotion. It seemed as if he had suddenly beentransported into a world he had forgotten, as he found himself among thecommon people on the car. The general curiosity annoyed him. Everyonewas whispering his name: and even the conductor showed a certain emotionon seeing the owner of Villa Sirena among his passengers.

  "And the worst of it all, my friends, is that I'm ruined!"

  Spadoni stared with wide opened eyes as though hearing somethingextraordinary and absurd. Castro smiled incredulously.

  "You ruined?... I'd be satisfied with a tenth of the remains."

  The Prince nodded. He reminded one of those great transatlantic linerswhich, when they are wrecked, make the fortune of a whole population ofpoverty stricken people along the shore. Wealth was of course a relativething. He might still have more than many people; but ruin it was forhim, nevertheless.

  "In view of what I am going to say later, I must not conceal from youthe situation I am in. A few weeks ago I sold my Paris residence whichmy mother built. It was bought by a 'newly rich.' With this war, I'mgoing to become a 'newly poor.' You know, Atilio, how things have gonewith me, since this row among the nations started. From the time theyfired the first cannon they sent me from Russia only an eighth of what Ireceived in times of peace; later much less. The revolution came and cutdown my income still more. And, now under Comrade Lenin and the redflag, there is nothing coming through at all, absolutely nothing. I haveno idea whatsoever of the fate of my houses, my fields, my mines ... Idon't know even what has become of those who were looking after myfortune there. They have probably all been killed."

  The Colonel raised his eyes to the ceiling: "The revolution!... Whatthey need is a master."

  "But a rich man like you with reserve funds in the bank all the time,can always find some one to make him a loan until times are better."

  "Perhaps; but it means practically poverty for me. My administrator toldme when I was leaving Paris, that I ought to limit my expenses, liveaccording to my present income. How much have I?... I don't know. Hedoesn't even know himself. He is balancing my accounts, collecting fromsome people and paying others--I had a lot of debts, it seems.Millionaires are never asked to pay their bills promptly.... In short, Ishall have to live, like a ruined prince, on some sixty thousand dollarsa year; perhaps more, perhaps less. I really don't know."

  Castro and Spadoni seemed to be stirred with longing at the mention ofsuch a sum. Novoa looked with an air of respect at this man who calledhimself his friend and thought himself poor with sixty thousand dollarsa year.

  "My administrator spoke to me of selling Villa Sirena as well as theParis residence. It seems that the newly rich would like to geteverything I have. A complete liquidation.... But I wouldn't listen toit. This is my own little nook; I made it what it is myself. Besides,life is impossible out in the world. The war has filled it withbitterness. Living in Paris is very gloomy. There is no one there. Thestreets are dark. The 'Gothas' make the people of our class worried andnervous. It is much better to leave. I thought I would settle down hereand wait till this world madness is over."

  "It is going to be a long wait," remarked Castro.

  "I'm afraid so. However, this is an agreeable spot, a pleasant refuge,all the more delightful because of the selfish feeling that at this verymoment millions of men are suffering every sort of hardship, andthousands are dying every day.... But after all, it isn't the same as itused to be. Even the Mediterranean is different. The minute the sun goesdown, my good Colonel has to mask with black curtains the windows anddoors looking out on the sea, so that the German submarines cannot guidethemselves by our lights.... Dear me! Where are those wonderful days wespent here in time of peace, the festivals we used to have, those nightson the Gaviotta II when she anchored in the harbor of Monaco?"

  A far away look came into Castro's eyes, as though he were in a dream.In his imaginings he saw the gardens of Villa Sirena, softly lighted,wrapped in a milky haze that settled on the invisible waves like rays ofreflected moonlight.

  The window curtains were crimson, and from them, drifting through thewarm darkness of the night, came the sound of laughter, cries, thesighing of violins, amorous love songs, that told of women's throats,white and voluptuous, swelling with desire and the rapture of the music.The stars, specks of light lost in the infinite, twinkled in answer tothe electric stars, hidden in the dark foliage. Walking slowly, couplesarm in arm disappeared amid the deep shadows of the garden. All thewomen of the day had turned up there sooner or later: famous actressesfrom Paris, London, and Vienna; beauties of the smart cliques of twohemispheres, women of high society, smiling the smile of slaves beforethe potentate who could banish their debts with the stroke of a pen.Oh, the Pompeian nights of Villa Sirena!...

  Spadoni saw, rather, the Gaviotta II, a palace with propellers, which,when anchored in the small harbor of La Condamine, seemed to fill itcompletely and to make the yachts of the American millionaires and thePrince of Monaco look like tiny things indeed. It was an alcazar, apalace of the Arabian Nights, topped off with two smoke stacks, andparading over every sea of the planet, its private parlors adorned withfountains and statues, its enormous library, its ball room with a raisedplatform, from which fifty musicians, many of them celebrated, gaveconcerts for a single visible auditor, Prince Michael, who half reclinedon a divan, while the tropical breeze came through the high windows,caressing the heads of the officers and chief functionaries of thesteamer crowding about the openings. The pianist could see once more thelonely harbors of dead historic countries, with flights of seagullswheeling against the quiet azure vault; the mighty bays, filled with thesmoke an
d bustle of North America; the coasts of the Antilles withgroves of cocoanut palms, black at sunset against the reddish sky; theislands of the Pacific, of hard coral, forming a ring about an innerlake.... And that omnipotent magician confessed the loss of hiswealth!...

  The Prince, as though he guessed their thoughts, added:

  "It's the end of all that: I don't know whether forever or for manyyears.... And even if things should be the same some day as they werebefore the war, what a long time we shall have to wait!... I may diebefore then.... That is why I am going to make a proposal to you."

  He paused a moment, to enjoy the curiosity he read in the eyes of hisauditors.

  Then he asked Castro:

  "Are you satisfied with your present life?"

  In spite of Castro's good natured, smiling placidity, he started insurprise as if indignant at such a question. His life was unbearable.The war had upset his habits and pleasures, scattering his friendshipsto the four winds. He did not know the fate of hundreds of persons ofvarious nationalities, who had filled his life before the war, andwithout whom he would then have thought it impossible to live.

  "Besides, I have less money than ever. I am staying at Monte Carlo justfor the gambling; and even if I always lose in the end, like everyoneelse, I always keep a tight grip on a little something to live on!...But what a life!"

  He glanced at Novoa as though the recency of his acquaintance inspired acertain suspicion, but immediately he went on, with an air of assurance:

  "There is no reason why I should not speak quite plainly. A little whileago the Professor told us how much he earned: some hundred dollars amonth; less than any employee at the Casino. I am going to be as frankas he. I live in the Hotel de Paris: Atilio Castro cannot afford to liveanywhere else; he must keep up his connections. But there are many weekswhen I have the greatest difficulty in paying for my room, and I eat incheap restaurants and Italian wine shops, when no one invites me out todine. I pay three or four times as much for my bed as I do for my board.Evenings when luck is against me, and I lose everything to the lastchip, I get along with a ham sandwich at the Casino bar. I belong to thesame school as the Madrid gambler we nicknamed the 'Master,' and whoused to say to us: 'Boys, money was made for gambling; and what's left,for eating.'"

  "And in spite of that, you like good food," said the Prince.

  Castro's laments took on a comical seriousness. With the war the goodold customs had been forgotten. No one kept house; everyone lived inhotels, and the proprietors of the luxurious palaces took the scarcityof food as a pretext to serve the sort of meals one gets in third raterestaurants, scanty and poor. An invitation merely gave one a chance tofool one's hunger.

  "It has been months, maybe years, since I've eaten as I have to-day, andI've sat at the tables of all the big hotels on the Riviera. I hadceased to believe that such chicken as you have just served existed inthe world any longer. I imagined they were dream birds, mythologicalfowl."

  The Colonel smiled, bowing as if that were a tribute to him.

  "And you, Spadoni?" the Prince went on inquiringly. "How are youenjoying life?"

  "Your Highness--I--I," stammered the musician, at the sudden question.

  Castro intervened, coming to his rescue.

  "Our friend Spadoni can always get a free meal at the villas of a numberof invalid ladies, who live at Cap-Martin and who are mad about music.Besides some English people at Nice often invite him. He doesn't need tobother about paying hotel bills either. He has at his disposal a wholebig villa, large and well-furnished: it goes with his job, as watchmanover a corpse."

  Novoa started with surprise at the news.

  "Don't be astonished," continued Atilio. "He has the benefit of amagnificent house in exchange for looking after a tomb."

  "Oh, Professor!... Don't mind him," groaned the musician with the air ofa martyr.

  "But with all these advantages," Castro went on saying, "there is oneterrible drawback: he is a worse gambler than I. He has a nickname inthe Casino 'the number five gentleman.' He never plays any other number.Anything he can get hold of he puts on five, and loses it. I am the'number seventeen gentleman' and it turns out as badly with me as withhim.... Besides, he has his English friends. Queer ducks! They come fromNice every day in a two horse landau, and just as if they didn't getenough gambling with the Casino, they set up a green table on theirknees and take out a deck of cards. They play poker with the Cornichelandscape, that people come from all over the world to see, right beforetheir eyes. And our artist, when he takes a fourth hand with the twoEnglishmen and an old maid, there within the sight of the Mediterranean,golden in the setting sun, loses everything he took in at some concertat Cannes or Monte Carlo."

  Spadoni started to say something, but stopped, seeing that the Princeturned to Novoa:

  "I shan't ask you," said the Prince; "I know your situation. You live inthe old part of Monaco, in the house of an employee of the Museum; andhis lodgings can't be much. Besides, as Atilio was saying, you receivemuch less than a croupier at the Casino."

  And looking at his guests he added:

  "What I want to propose to you is that you live with me. The invitationis a selfish one on my part; I'm not denying that. I intend to stay hereuntil the world quiets down, and life is pleasant once more. If myColonel and I were here alone we would end by hating each other. Youwill keep me company in my retreat."

  All three remained dumbfounded at such an unexpected proposal. Novoa wasthe first to regain the use of his tongue.

  "Prince, you scarcely know me. We saw each other for the first timethree days ago.... I don't know whether I ought...."

  The Prince interrupted him with the sharp tone and imperious manner of aman who is not accustomed to considering objections.

  "We have known each other for many years; we have known each other allour lives." Then he added soothingly:

  "It isn't much that I'm offering you. Servants are scarce. There are nomen except my old valet and those two Italian monkeys that the Colonelmanaged to recruit somewhere. The rest of the service is done bywomen.... But even so, our life will be pleasant. We shall isolateourselves from a world gone crazy. We will not mention this war. Weshall lead a comfortable existence, as the monks did in the monasteriesof the Middle Ages, which were refreshing oases of tranquillity in themidst of violence and massacres. We shall eat well; the Colonelguarantees me that. The Library from the yacht is here. When I sold theboat, I had Don Marcos install all my books on the top floor. Our friendNovoa will find some volumes there which perhaps he does not know.Everyone will do what he pleases; free monks all of us, with no otherobligation than to repair to the refectory at the proper hour. And ifthe 'number five gentleman' and the 'number seventeen gentleman' want todrop in at the Casino, they can do so, and someone will see to it thattheir pockets are kept filled. We must give something to vice, what thedevil! Without vices, life wouldn't be worth living."

  A silent approbation greeted these words of the master of Villa Sirena.

  "The one thing I insist on," continued the Prince after a long pause,"is that we live alone, as men among men. No women! Women must beexcluded from our life in common."

  The pianist opened his eyes in astonishment; Castro stirred in hischair; Novoa removed his glasses with a mechanical gesture of surprise,immediately adjusting them once more to his nose.

  There was another silence.

  "What you propose," said Atilio, at last, with a smile, "reminds me of acomedy of Shakespeare. No women! And the hero in the end gets married."

  "I know that play," replied the Prince, "but I am not in the habit ofgoverning my life according to comedies, and I don't believe in theirteachings. You can rest assured that I shan't marry, even if it givesthe lie to Shakespeare and the French king from whose chronicle he gotthe material for his work."

  "But what you're attempting is absurd," Castro went on: "I don't knowwhat the rest think, but prevent me from...!"

  With a gesture he ended his protest.

 
Then seeing that the Prince had remained thoughtful, he added:

  "It is quite evident that you have had your fill!... You have gotten allyou wanted, and now you want to force on us...."

  The Prince, although absorbed in his own train of thought, he had notheard him, interrupted.

  "Seeing that you can't get along without it.... All right! I have nofixed intention of making a martyr of you. Go on being a slave to anecessity that is a result more of the imagination than of desire. Nowthat I really know life, I am astonished that men do so many foolishthings for the sake of a passing pleasure. While you are here you maysatisfy your whims whenever you like ... but no women."

  The three listeners looked at one another in astonishment; and even theColonel, who never betrayed his feeling when his "lord" was speaking,showed a certain surprise on his countenance. What did the Prince mean?

  "You are not ignorant, Atilio, of what a woman is. In the great majorityof peoples on this earth there are only females. There are young femalesand old females; but there are no 'women.' Woman, as we understand theword, is the artificial product of civilizations which, somewhat likehot-house flowers, have reached their maturity with a complex perversebeauty. Only in the large cities that have come to be decadent becausethey have reached their limits, do you find 'women.' Not being motherslike the poor females, they give up all their time to love, prolongtheir youth marvelously, and scheme to inspire passions at an age whenthe others live like grandmothers. There you have the creatures that,personally, I am afraid of! If they come in here, it's the end of oursociety, our tranquil, even life."

  The Prince arose from the table, and they all followed suit. Lunch beingover they all passed into the great hall adjoining, where coffee wasserved. The Colonel looked about anxiously, examining the boxes ofHavanas, and the large liquor chest with its varied cut glass andcolored flasks, placed in a row.

  While cutting the tip of his cigar, the Prince continued, speaking allthe while to Castro:

  "When you want ... anything like that, all you need do is to choose inthe vicinity of the Casino. A hundred or two francs; and then,good-by!... But the other ones! The women! They work their way into ourlives, and finally dominate us, and want to mold our ways to suit theirown. Their love for us after all is merely vanity, like that of theconqueror who loves the land that he has conquered with violence. Theyhave all read books--nearly always stupidly and without understanding,to be sure, but they have read books--and such reading leaves themdetermined to satisfy all sorts of vague desires, and absurd whims, thatsucceed only in making slaves of us, and in moving us to act on impulseswe have acquired in our own early romantic readings.... I know them. Ihave met too many of them in my life. If women from our social spheremingle with us here, it means an end to peace. They will seek me outthrough curiosity on remembering my past life, or greed in thinking ofmy wealth; as for you men, they will come between you, making youjealous of one another and the life that I desire here will beimpossible.... Besides, we are poor."

  Atilio protested, smilingly: "Oh! poor!"

  "Poor when it comes to the follies of the old days," continued thePrince, "and for love one needs money. All that talk about love being adisinterested thing was made up by poor people, who are satisfied withimitations. There is a glitter of gold at the bottom of every passion.At first we don't think of such things; desire blinds us. All we see isthe immediate domination of the person so sweetly our adversary. Butlove invariably ends by giving or taking money."

  "Take money from a woman!... Never!" said Castro, losing his ironicsmile.

  "You will end by taking it, if you are poor, and frequent the society ofwomen. Those of our times think of nothing but money. When their love isa rich man, they ask him for it, even if they have a large fortune oftheir own. They feel less worthy if they don't ask. When they are fondof a poor man, they force him to receive gifts from them. They dominatehim better by degrading him. Besides, in doing so they feel the selfishsatisfaction of the person who gives alms. Woman, having always beenforced to beg from man, has the greatest sensation of pride, and thinksshe in turn can give money to some one of the sex that has alwayssupported her."

  Novoa, cup in hand, listened attentively to the Prince. Lubimoff wasspeaking of a world quite unknown to him. Spadoni, as he sipped hiscoffee, with a vague look in his eyes, was thinking of something faraway.

  "Now you know the worst, Atilio," the Prince went on. "No women!... Thatway we will lead a great life. All the morning, free! We shan't see oneanother until lunch time. Down below is the cove, there are still anumber of boats. We can fish, while it's sunny; we can go rowing. In theafternoon you will go to the Casino; occasionally I shall go, too, tohear some concert. Spring is drawing near. At night, sitting on theterrace, watching the stars, our friend Novoa, the man of learning ofour monastery, will expound the music of the spheres; and Spadoni, ourmusician, will sit down at the piano, and delight us with terrestrialmusic."

  "Splendid!" exclaimed Castro. "You are almost a poet in describing ourfuture life, and you have persuaded me. We are going to be happy. Butdon't forget your permission for the 'female,' and your prohibition of'women.' No skirts in Villa Sirena! Nothing but men; monks in trousers,selfish and tolerant, coming together to live a pleasant life, while theworld is aflame."

  Atilio remained thoughtful a few moments, and continued:

  "We need a name; our community must have a title. We shall callourselves 'the enemies of women'."

  The Prince smiled.

  "The name mustn't go any farther than ourselves. If people outsidelearned of it, they might think it meant something else."

  Novoa, feeling honored by his new intimacy with men so different fromthose with whom he had previously associated, accepted the name withenthusiasm.

  "I confess, gentlemen, that according to the distinction made by thePrince, I have never known a 'woman'. Females ... poor ones, to be sure,a very few perhaps! But I like the name, and agree to join the 'enemiesof women' even though a woman is never to enter my life."

  Spadoni, as though suddenly awakening, turned to Castro, and continuedhis thought aloud.

  "It's a system of stakes invented by an English lord, now dead, who wonmillions by it. They explained it to me yesterday. First you place...."

  "No, no, you satanic pianist!" exclaimed Atilio. "You can explain it tome in the Casino, providing I have the curiosity to listen. You've mademe lose a lot, with all your systems. I had better go on playing your'number five.'"

  The Colonel, who had listened in silence to the conversation in regardto women, seemed to recall something when Castro mentioned gambling.

  "Last evening," he said to the Prince, in a mysterious voice, "I met theDuchess in the Casino"....

  A look of silent questioning halted his words.

  "What Duchess is that?"

  "The question is quite in point, Michael," said Atilio. "Your'chamberlain' is better acquainted in society than any man on theRiviera. He knows princesses and duchesses by the dozen. I have seen himdining in the Hotel de Paris with all the ancient French nobility, whocome here to console themselves for the long time it takes to bring backtheir former kings. In the private rooms in the Casino, he is alwayskissing wrinkled hands and bowing to some group of disgusting mummiesloaded down with the oldest and most famous names. Some of them callhim simply 'Colonel'; others introduce him with the title of 'aide decamp of Prince Lubimoff'."

  Don Marcos stiffened, offended by the waggish tone in which his highestate was being mentioned, and said haughtily:

  "Senor de Castro, I am a soldier grown old in defense of Legitimacy; Ished my blood for the sacred tradition, and there is nothing remarkableabout my association with...."

  The Prince knowing by experience that the Colonel did not know what timewas, when once he began to talk about "legitimacy" and the blood he hadshed, hastened to interrupt him.

  "All right; we know that very well already. But who was this Duchess youmet?"

  "The Duchess de Delille. She of
ten asks about your Highness, and uponhearing that you had just arrived, she gave me to understand that sheintended paying you a call."

  The Prince replied with a simple exclamation, and then remained silent.

  "We are starting well," said Castro, laughing. "'No women!' Andimmediately the Colonel announces a visit from one of them, one of themost dangerous.... For you will admit that a Duchess like that is one ofthe 'women' you described to us."

  "I won't receive her," said the Prince resolutely.

  "I have an idea that this Duchess is a cousin of yours."

  "There is no such relationship. Her father was the brother of mymother's second husband. But we have known each other since childhood,and we each have a most unpleasant memory of one another. When I wasliving in Russia she married a French Duke. She had the same desire asthe majority of wealthy American girls: a great title of nobility inorder to make her friends among the fair sex jealous and to shine inEuropean circles. A few months later she left the Duke, assigning him acertain income, which is just what her noble husband wanted perhaps.This woman Alicia never appealed to me particularly.... Besides, she haslived life just as she pleased.... She has seen almost as much of it asI have. She has as much of a reputation as I. They even accuse her, justas they do me, of love affairs with people she has never seen.... Theytell me that in recent years she has been parading around with a younglad, almost a child ... dear me! We are getting old!"

  "I saw her with him in Paris," said Castro. "It was before the war.Later in Monte Carlo I met her, all by herself, without being able tofind a trace of her young chap anywhere. He must have been a passingfancy of hers.... She has been here three years now. When summer comesshe moves to Aix-les-Bains, or to Biarritz, but as soon as the Casino isgay and fashionable again, she is one of the first to return."

  "Does she play?"

  "Desperately. She plays high stakes and plays them badly, although wewho think we play well always lose just the same, in the end. I mean,she puts her money on the table without thinking, in several places at atime, and then even forgets where she placed it. The 'leveurs des morts'are always hanging around to pick up the pieces that no one claims andwhen she wins, they always manage to get something of it. She gambledfor two years with nothing less than chips of five hundred and athousand francs. At present her chips are never for more than a hundred.It won't be long before she is using the red ones, the twenties, thefavorites of your humble servant."

  "I shall refuse to receive her," affirmed the Prince.

  And doubtless in order not to talk any more about the Duchess deDelille, he suddenly left his friends, and walked out of the room.

  Atilio, in a conversational mood, turned and asked a question of DonMarcos, who was speaking with Novoa, while Spadoni went on dreaming,with eyes wide open, of the English lord's system.

  "Have you seen Dona Enriqueta lately?"

  "Are you asking me about the Infanta?" replied the Colonel gravely."Yes, I met her yesterday, in the courtyards of the Casino. Poor lady!If it isn't a shame! The daughter of a king.... She told me that hersons haven't anything to wear. She owes two hundred francs forcigarettes, at the bar of the private play rooms. She can't find anyonewho will lend her money. Besides, she has frightful bad luck; she loseseverything. These are fatal days for people of royal blood. I almostwept when I heard all her poverty and troubles, and felt that I couldn'tgive her anything more. The daughter of a king?"

  "But her father disowned her, when she eloped with some unknown artist,"said Atilio. "And besides, Don Carlos wasn't a king anywhere."

  "Senor de Castro," replied the Colonel, drawing himself up, like arooster, "let's not spoil the party. You know my ideas: I have shed myblood in the cause of Legitimacy, and the respect that I have for youshould not...."

  Novoa, wishing to calm Don Marcos, intervened in the conversation.

  "Monte Carlo here is like a beach, where all sorts of wreckage, livingand dead, is washed up sooner or later. In the Hotel de Paris there isanother member of the family, but of the successful branch, the one thatis ruling and taking in the money."

  "I know him," said Atilio, laughing. "He's a young man of calipigousexuberance and wherever he goes his handsome gentleman secretary goeswith him. He always meets some venerable old lady who, dazzled by hisroyal kinship, takes it upon herself to keep up his extravagant mode ofliving.... Don't know what the devil he can possibly give her in return!As for the secretary, he gives him a slap from time to time just toassert his ancient rights."

  Don Marcos remained silent. He was not interested in the members of thatbranch, not he.

  "Also," Castro continued mischievously, "in the Casino before the war, Imet Don Jaime, your own king at present. A great fellow for gambling! Herisked thousand franc chips by the handful. He had a lot of money comingfrom somewhere. In the Casino they all used to say that it was sent himfrom Madrid, on condition that he should have no children and allow hisclaims to the throne to die out with him."

  "And just to think," murmured Novoa, without realizing that he wasspeaking aloud, "that for both of these families, back there, so manymen have killed one another. To think, that for a question ofinheritance among people like that we have gone back a century inEuropean life!"

  "You too!" exclaimed the Colonel, provoked again. "A scholar, saying athing like that! I can hardly believe my ears!"