The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

As a patriot he suffered at seeing Spain outside the struggle, making an effort to remain unaware of what was going on in the rest of the world, putting its head under its wing, like certain long-legged birds that imagine they can avoid danger by not seeing it. Happily, his country did not figure among the indecent nations, nor was it any too decent either. It was allowing a chance for glory to escape, and this stirred the Colonel's wrath deeply.

For the last three months a fixed idea has been disturbing his happiest moments. The Allies had entered Jerusalem. What a great joy for an old Catholic soldier! But his joy afterwards made him smile bitterly. A Protestant nation freeing the sepulcher of Christ for the third time!..

"Imagine, Martinez, if only Spain had been with the decent nations! We have missed the chance of obtaining this glory, we who belong to the nation that has showed the greatest faith. Even I, in spite of my years, would have gone on the crusade. The Spanish entering Jerusalem victorious! What do you think of that?"

But the officer replied, with a vague smile, "Yes, perhaps." It was evident that the entry into Jerusalem and the empty tomb of Christ made very little difference to him. Don Marcos was somewhat disappointed with his hero, but he consoled himself with the thought that after all his own ideas belonged to the Middle Ages. Decidedly, he and Martinez were men of two different periods. "Youth, youth! You belong to the Spain of the future; I to the Spain" … and so on.

Yes; the world was progressing in new directions. He, himself, a few days later, worried by the gloomy aspect of the war on the Western Front, had forgotten all about Jerusalem. The Germans, freed from the peril presented by Russia at their backs, after making peace with the Bolsheviki, were concentrating all their troops in France, in order to make a drive on Paris. The Allies, facing this overwhelming offensive, could count only on their regular forces and those which the recent intervention of the United States might bring.

In regard to aid from this latter source Don Marcos held a fixed and decided opinion. In the first place he had felt towards the United States a certain antipathy which dated back to the Cuban war. They might possess a large fleet, because anybody can buy ships if he has money enough, and the Americans were immensely rich: but how about an army? Toledo believed only in armies belonging to monarchies, with the exception of that of France, since in the latter country the glory of military tradition was attached to the history of the first Republic.

At the beginning of the war, he had even been irritated by the importance which every one had given President Wilson. Both sides had turned to him, appealing to his judgment, and protesting against the barbarities of the respective adversary. Even Wilhelm II cabled him frequently to make a show of sincerity for his frauds, as though he considered it important to gain Wilson's good opinion.

"Just as though this man were the center of the Universe! The President of a Republic that had only a few thousand soldiers, a professor, a dreamer!.."

He understood only heads of States in uniform, their breasts covered with decorations, with both hands on the hilt of a sword, and with an immense army before them, ready to fight in obedience to orders. And this gentleman in a cut-away coat and stiff hat, with eyeglasses and a smile like that of a learned clergyman, was now the man on whom the eyes of half the world were focused with looks of hope, and he was the deciding power that some were anxious to win over and others were afraid of arguing with!

Atilio Castro laughed at Don Marcos. He was always out of sympathy with the Colonel's opinions, and seemed impressed by this new marvel in history.

"Times have changed since your day, Don Marcos. We are going to see something new. America, which a century ago was merely a European colony, will perhaps protect and save Europe now. In the meantime, we are witnessing the curious spectacle of a former University professor being the arbiter of the world. What would Napoleon say if he were to see this ninety-four years after his death?"

Toledo gloomily assented. Yes; his days had passed. Democracy, Republicanism, all these things that had made him smile, as though they were something transitory, ineffectual and out of date, were very powerful in the present world, and perhaps would finally take charge of directing its affairs. Even he felt their irresistible influence. When he saw how the President of the great American Republic protested against the torpedoing of defenseless ships, the crimes of the submarines, and finally declared war on the German Empire, Don Marcos affirmed, stammering out a confession:

"This man Wilson … this Wilson is a decent sort of a fellow."

For him it was impossible to say more.

He approved of the man through instinctive worship of personal power, but refused to believe in the military strength of the United States. It was a land of liberty, according to him, where all considered themselves equals and this made it impossible to create a real army.

The Prince and Castro occasionally talked in his presence of the war of secession, the first war in which millions of men had taken part, applying, moreover, innumerable inventions, in which all the progress in modern armament found its source. Toledo listened, with a doubt inspired by distant events. This struggle had been among themselves: militia warfare; but to raise an army of millions of men in a country that did not have compulsory military service; to transport this army across the ocean with all the immense quantity of supplies and munitions, and to get them there, besides, in time to save Europe from the great danger… Mere dreams! "What they call over there 'bluff'!"

Don Marcos clung to this word in order to maintain his incredulity. This race is accustomed to accomplishing tremendous things; Americans conceive of everything on a large scale: cities, buildings, industries, wealth; but afterwards they exaggerate considerably when they come to advertising and describing what they do. Everybody knew that, and the American military forces which were to crush German militarism and re-establish peace on earth, although well-intentioned, were nothing but one bluff more.

Castro approved of the Colonel's words for the first time, without any intention of making fun of him. The President had declared war, but the country did not seem disposed to follow him.

"They will probably send money, munitions, supplies, all the immense power of their wealth and production. But a big army? Where can they get one? How is an immense people accustomed to the volunteer system, and living amid the greatest prosperity, going to take up arms? What would they gain by doing so?"

But the Prince, who had often been over there, replied with an ambiguous gesture:

"Perhaps! But if they really want to enter the war, who knows! Anything might happen in that country, no matter how impossible it seems!"

The Colonel was gradually won over by the irrational enthusiasm of the general public. Since the beginning of the war, the masses, who believe in mysterious predictions and supernatural interventions, had always had some favorite people, some nation that it had been the fashion to regard as invincible and in which all hopes could be concentrated.

At the beginning it had been Russia, with its millions and millions of men, the Russian "steam roller" that had only to advance in order to crush Germany. Poor steam roller! When it had fallen to pieces, the fickle enthusiasm of the public had turned toward England. Now it was America, all the more miraculous and omnipotent because little known.

In all conversations one heard the name of an American, both at elegant teas and in humble cafés; the one American well known in Europe: Edison, the inventor. He would settle everything. Up to the present time he had remained out of sight and silent, but now that his country had entered the war they would see something miraculous. In a few hours, invisible and implacable powers would crush to bits the invading armies; the submarines would burst like shells under a sort of frozen light which would pursue them in the ocean depths; the aeroplanes that bombarded defenseless cities would be forced to descend, drawn by electric magnetism, as a bird is drawn toward the mouth of a boa constrictor. Edison, the wonder-worker, meant more to the popular imagination of Europe than all the soldiers and all the ships of his country.

And Toledo, who decorated his bedroom with pictures of Joffre and Foch, but believed at the same time that St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, had intervened in the victory of the Marne, felt attracted by all the miracles of the American wizard, announced by every one as something sure. Science, being somewhat apart from religion, inspired in him a feeling of respect and fear. For this reason he believed blindly in its wonders, much as a zealot believes in the immense powers of the devil.

At other times his incredulity was renewed. The war could only be determined by troops. Up to that time the forces of both sides had been equal; but now Germany was bringing new divisions – those from the Eastern Front, – and was preparing the decisive blow. On the side of the Allies an equivalent or greater number of soldiers was lacking; they needed the last few drops which would fill the glass, cause it to overflow and tip the scales. America might do this. But their forces were arriving so slowly! The obstacles were so great! A few battalions of the regular American army had already marched through Paris. After that months went by without the constant tiny stream of reënforcements becoming a torrent.

Everywhere on the Riviera, Toledo observed wounded soldiers from various countries. Only from time to time was he able to distinguish a few American uniforms, worn by men of the Medical Corps, who did not seem to have much to do. The newspapers talked about forces from the United States that occupied a sector on the front, but they were so few!

"All that talk about a million or two million men before the end of the year is mere bluff," said the Colonel. "I know something about such things, and it is easier to build a skyscraper with a hundred stories than to transport a million soldiers from one hemisphere to the other. And how about the great drive that is beginning! And France is worn out, after four years of heroism that has drained her blood!"

Every day he walked up and down in the ante-room of the Casino, waiting impatiently for the big bulletins which were written out by hand in large letters and posted on the panels by the employees. In scanning the latest telegraphic dispatches he was looking only for the beginning of the offensive announced by the enemy. This menace had shaken his faith in the victory, and kept him in a state of constant worry. Oh! If only the Americans would come in time, and in enormous numbers.

He felt it his duty to lie unblushingly to the friends who surrounded him in the ante-room, asking his opinion as a soldier.

"We will triumph; and William will have to shoot himself."

The question of his shooting himself was the one thing that will be his end, in case of a defeat.

"I know the Kaiser very well," he continued. "He is only a Lieutenant, a Lieutenant that has grown old, keeping the cracked brain swagger of youth. But he has the sense of honor of an officer who, finding himself defeated, raises his revolver to his head. You will see that that will be his end, in case of a defeat."

"He writes verse, music, and paints pictures, giving his opinion on every matter, and making people accept it, like one of those young officers who on entering a drawing room of civilians monopolize attention with their insolence and conceit, emboldened by the silence of the guests, who are afraid of provoking a duel. He is the eternal twenty-two-year-old Lieutenant whose hair has grown gray under the imperial crown, whose head has been turned a bit by the constant triumphs of his personal vanity. But once Fate turns her back on him, he will act in the same decisive manner as an officer who has gambled away the funds entrusted to his care, or committed other crimes against his honor.

"Never fear; the Lieutenant will know how to act when the hour of adversity arises. He is a mad man, a vain comedian, but he has the sense of shame of a warrior. Let me repeat: He will shoot himself."

And in his imagination he could hear the Imperial revolver-shot.

What disgusted Don Marcos was not to be able to talk about this, nor about the danger of the offensive, when he was in Villa Sirena. The friends of the Prince lived like guests at a hotel. They never were all together except during the early morning hours. They rarely sat down together at table. Some power from the outside seemed to attract them away from the Villa, driving them toward Monte Carlo. Even the Prince often lunched or dined at the Hôtel de Paris, sending word at the last minute by telephone.

This domestic disorder was accepted by Toledo as providential.

The service had suffered an unavoidable decline through the departure of Estola and Pistola. One morning they appeared, stammering and filled with emotion, minus the dress suits which were too large for them. They were going away. They were to cross the frontier that very afternoon to appear at the Barracks. They had received orders from their Consul.

They did not seem filled with enthusiasm for their new profession; but Don Marcos, through a sense of professional duty, tried to buck them up with a bit of a speech. He, too, at their age, had gone off to war of his own accord. "Respect for your officers … love them as you would your father … for honor … for the flag."

The appearance of the Prince cut short his harangue. The two boys kissed their master's hand as though they were taking leave of him for eternity, and in their confusion they did not know where to put the bank notes which were given them. Imagine Estola and Pistola converted into soldiers! Even these two boys were being driven along the road of death! And the whole thing seemed so extraordinary to Michael, so absurd, that while he felt sorry for them, he also felt like laughing.

Half an hour later he had forgotten all about them. The Colonel would manage to organize new service with women, now that owing to the war it was impossible to get other servants. Besides, he was bored at Villa Sirena, and living at Monte Carlo would be something of a novelty for him.

The idlers who promenaded around the "Camembert" frequently saw him enter the Casino with an absent-minded air, like a gambler who has just thought of a new combination. The crowd in the gambling room had also seen him approach the tables as though interested in the fluctuation of chance, but they waited in vain to see him place a bet, imagining that he would play nothing save enormous sums.

His eyes seemed to see in all directions, and no sooner did the Duchess de Delille leave her seat to go over to another table, than the Prince came forward to meet her, extended his hand and smiled youthfully.

They remained motionless in the spot where they greeted each other, gazing into each other's eyes, until, warned instinctively of prying glances behind their backs, they went and sat down on a divan in a corner, and continued their conversation there. Suddenly, a murmur from the crowd around a table would cause her out of professional curiosity to leave Lubimoff and to hasten thither.

Alicia would smile the proud bitter smile of a dethroned queen. During the preceding day people had talked of nothing save her. Her name had traveled as far as Nice and Menton. In the evenings, at the dinner hour, families who dwelt permanently in Monaco and who are forbidden to enter the Casino, asked for news of her luck. In the cafés and restaurants, her name resounded, mingled with those of the Generals who were directing the war. In front of the bulletins giving the latest news, people interrupted their comments on the coming offensive, asking one another, "How did the Duchess de Delille come out yesterday?" Afternoons, when she arrived at the Casino, sightseers crowded about her to get a better view, and her friends greeted her, proudly kissing her hand. It was a silent ovation, consisting of glances and smiles, like that which greets the entry of a famous soprano on the stage which has witnessed her triumphs.

Her battle with the Casino lasted about two weeks; she won, lost, and won again. She began her "work" at three o'clock in the afternoon, and remained at it until midnight. The tea hour passed, then the dinner hour, without her being aware of it. When the gambling was closed she came away, leaning on Valeria's arm, greeting every one amiably, exhausted and victorious. Sometimes, like an invalid fed against her will, she accepted the sandwiches and a cup of tea which her companions brought her at the gambling table.

One night – a memorable one – she had won continuously up to the closing hour of the Casino. She counted the bank notes that the head employees had given her with a hard, enigmatic smile. There were four hundred of them, each of a thousand francs. They protruded from her hand bag and from Valeria's. Even her friend, "the General," was obliged to help her, by taking care of several packages of them.

"If they hadn't closed I would have broken the bank," she said with the vanity of a conqueror.

Clorinda accompanied her in the carriage as far as her house, repeating prudent advice: "Don't go on; keep the money. It is impossible to go any higher." Valeria, during the course of the evening, kept repeating the same words: "It is tempting God to keep on."