The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

She forgot everything around her. Her eyes were still open but the vision of the sea, the golden sunset in the sky, and even the pine boughs forming a canopy above their heads, had disappeared from her gaze.

Suddenly she saw them all once more, and at the same time she drew back her shoulders repelling him.

"No, I won't… Stop! They might see us. How crazy of us!"

The Prince was an athlete, but his emotion weakened him. Besides, his energy was scattered in the double effort of trying to master the woman and at the same time of enjoying her caress in the overwhelming fury of passion. She bent and straightened several times, with all the suppleness of a reptile, finally succeeding in escaping from the chain of his arms, as she gave a sigh of weariness and relief.

Lubimoff, coming to himself again, saw Alicia standing in front of him, smoothing her disordered clothing, and raising her hands to her hair, to her tilted hat and her boa, which was slipping from her shoulders.

"Let us go," she said, with angry brevity.

And the Prince followed her, crestfallen, repenting his violence. After walking a few steps, she seemed moved by his silence, which showed his repentance, and smiled again:

"It is quite evident that from now on I must not see you alone. I forgot that you were a sailor, accustomed to making port in a hurry without caring to lose any time." They walked along slowly, in a tranquillity like that of the serene twilight.

On leaving the gardens, they found themselves cut off by the Museum. Must they return by the way they had come? Michael discovered on one side of the building a rustic stairway cut at intervals in the rock, the hollows of which were filled with brick steps. It descended to the edge of the sea in various flights of stairs, and at the farther end, a walk following the edge of the coast led to the harbor.

She hesitated for a moment at the archway of the entrance.

"I warn you," she said, shaking her finger at Michael, "that if you return to your old tricks, I shall call for help. Do you promise me you'll be good? Word of honor?.. All right; go on ahead: I don't trust you."

He went ahead down the stairway to explore. The walls of the Museum seemed to expand as they continued to descend. Besides the building with its roof at their feet, there was a second building below, rising with its stone walls pierced by large windows, from the rocky slopes. At a turn of the path, the Prince faltered to wait for his companion. She was slowly descending, maintaining a distance of several steps between them. Her feet were higher than Lubimoff's head, and it was only necessary for the latter to raise his eyes slightly to see the stockings the darning in which Alicia had explained.

With the lightness of a spring released, he slipped up the various steps that separated them.

"Michael! I'll shout!" she exclaimed on seeing him coming, and she held out her hands to repel him, trying at the same time to flee.

With his arms he had embraced the lower part of that adorable body. He could not climb any further; Alicia's hands repulsed his head with a nervous violence. And he in passionate madness pressed his lips to her feet and her ankles, kissing her skirts wherever he could reach them.

She was angry at feeling that she could not stir and would be unable to escape.

"Let me go! It's ridiculous! Stop!"

The Prince's hat rolled down the steps, knocked off by a blow from her slender hands, as, blindly, she defended herself.

This incident brought him to his senses. Yes; as a matter of fact, it was ridiculous. And as he saw that Alicia intended to retrace her steps, returning to the garden, Michael to inspire her confidence ran down the stairway without turning his head, to see whether she was following him.

They met at the edge of the sea, on the wide path that wound among the loose rocks bordered with foam, and the nearly vertical walls of the cliff. The flat places and hollows in the stone had been made use of, on this promontory, that had so few soft surfaces, to construct the few houses that sheltered the families of the employees in Monaco. Along the upper edge of the cliff appeared the green line bordering the lofty gardens and cut at intervals by the old works of fortification.

They were the sloping bastions, with sentry posts, like those one sees in old engravings or in stage settings. Huge stone facings with Latin letters sang the praises of the various sovereign Princes, who had built these costly works of defense, now antiquated and worthless. Lubimoff expected to see appear from these sentry posts a grenadier in a white uniform with scarlet facings, wearing, above his black mustache and powdered wig, a golden miter.

They walked slowly along in the twilight. Above them shone the orange light of the setting sun, casting a mild red glow on the jutting rocks, the trees, and the white and yellow façades of the buildings. At the edge of the sea, the shadow was a deep blue shade, like moonlight shadow. The sky, blood-red in the West, was invisible for them behind the rocky cliffs of Monaco. They could see it only in the direction of Italy, and there it was growing darker and denser every minute, preparing for the first luminous piercing of the stars.

They met various fishermen who were returning home loaded down with baskets and nets.

Alicia felt worried in certain bends of the path so completely deserted. Later, on seeing a house or a passerby approaching, she resumed the conversation. What she was afraid of was stopping along the way, and sitting down with the Prince on the little parapet bordering the seashore. In the meantime they continued walking!

Without protesting, she allowed Lubimoff to put his arm in hers, leaning upon it. He expressed such deep humility! He seemed repentant for the liberties he had taken; and asked her forgiveness with a pale smile. Besides, he talked to her about her son with soothing optimism. All her fears were unfounded; her son would return: he was sure of it. She would receive good news almost any moment, perhaps that very night.

Her George was a man, and no matter how much he might love his mother, some day he would fall in love with another woman whom he would care for more deeply, and would build up a separate existence, like all the rest.

"And you, who may still consider yourself young, you, who have the right to long years of happiness, do you want to give up everything like an old woman? Why? Why be in a hurry about that?"

She bowed her head without knowing what to reply, and her emotion was such, that she made not the slightest movement when his arm freed itself from hers and encircled her waist. Thus they walked along, closely linked, forming a single body, taking step after step mechanically, without watching where they were going. With his eyes fixed on hers, he closely watched her face, hoping for a glance, or a monosyllable that would mean acceptance. Alicia was afraid of meeting those imploring eyes, and turned her own away.

"Tell me yes," Michael murmured, "tell me that you will. It isn't for nothing that we have met; it is not for nothing that you sought me out. We shall rebuild our lives that have been so nearly wrecked by our vanity and pride. Let us be, although it is rather late, what we ought to be to one another."

"No," sighed Alicia. "I can't… My son!.."

And immediately afterwards she hastened to murmur, as though repenting:

"Yes; perhaps … later … but not now. How shameful! When my mind is at ease, when I don't feel this worry that is killing me. I love you; is that enough? I love you."

These two words sufficed the Prince. He, who had gone to the farthest extreme of domination with so many women without ever feeling satisfied, contented himself with these brief words, which sounded in his ears like happy music.

Instinctively, his arm dropped below her waist, while his other arm drew her head to one of his shoulders.

There was a kiss, a long kiss, without either of them pausing in their walk. Alicia offered no resistance, and shortly afterwards, her lips, animated by a feverish awakening, responded to his kiss, making it more passionate, more vibrant and endless. She no longer felt any fear; they were walking along, and it was impossible for her lover to repeat the liberties he had dared to take in the garden. Moreover, she inwardly confessed, with a certain shame, the delight aroused in her by that violence.

"I love you!" she sighed, without knowing what she was saying. "I love you; but not that, no! Let us love each other like children. It is ridiculous at our age – but so sweet."

At that moment Lubimoff's spirit was like her own. This simple kiss seemed to him the greatest pleasure he had ever known. Life opened up enchantments of which he had never dreamed. It seemed to him that he was gazing on the most beautiful landscape in the world. How interesting were the old fortifications! What a great man Albert of Monaco was to build that lonely asphalt path, so that he might walk along it with his lips pressing the lips of a woman.

They walked along as though they were intoxicated, in a continual zigzag between the parapet and the wall of the cliff, their lips pressing, their eyes almost touching, as though nothing existed beyond them, and they actually imagined that they were walking in a straight line. From a distance one would have thought they were two adversaries struggling, staggering, as they jostled each other in the fight.

Suddenly mastered by desire, he stopped and refused to go on.

"No, no!"

Her will still shaken by her recent emotion, Alicia protested at this danger, but she forced herself to reiterate her refusal.

His lips had separated from hers. There was an aggressive gleam in his half-shut eyes. His hands fell upon her hips, and clinched like claws.

"I won't: I told you I won't! Come!"

She struggled in his arms with the agility of a gymnast, and in breaking free from his grasp there was a sound of tearing clothes.

"Look, you villain! Look what you've done!"

She was standing motionless, a few steps away, with her fur boa falling from one of her shoulders, while at the other she was looking for the tear that her dress had just suffered.

Michael, behind her, saw that one sleeve was almost torn away, giving a glimpse of her white flesh, and the seductive hollow under her arm.

He repented his violence, and the clumsiness of his hands, which like those of a drunken sailor broke what he caressed.

Once more Alicia took pity on his childish embarrassment.

"No, don't worry about that. It is a dress I have had for two years: it is so old, that it tears just by looking at it. That is one of the inconveniences of walking with a beggar."

But she finally became worried by this tear which was so visible. She was going to enter Monte Carlo on foot or by street car. What would people say, seeing her in such a state!

"A pin: have you got a pin?"

This request increased the remorse of the Prince. Where could a man find a pin? While Alicia was feeling for one without avail, he thought of returning to the Museum or scaling the rocks to one of those houses where the employees of the Prince live. He would have given a hundred francs for a pin – but he remembered that his pockets were empty.

He began to search his clothes while she searched hers, although he was certain that it would be useless.

Suddenly he smiled triumphantly.

"Here is your pin."

It was from his necktie! A famous pearl, admired by the women, and which he had never been willing to give away, because it was a gift of the Princess Lubimoff.

He was obliged to mend the tear at the shoulder himself, sighing with vexation.

"You don't know how," said Alicia laughing. "Look out that you don't prick me. How clumsy!"

But he finally felt glad of his clumsiness. He had to touch her naked arm with his fingers; and he quivered as he touched the soft skin, which preserved in its velvety shadows a certain mystery of passion.

"Look out!" she called. "Don't go back to your old tricks: I shall get angry. It is all right as it is. Come on!"

She threw her scarf over the clumsy repair, and the pearl, which stood out against it, with odd magnificence. They were walking along once more, without any new attempted audacities on Michael's part. The last incident had made him circumspect. Inwardly he called himself names, considering himself a savage, incapable of living among real ladies.

As they reached the last bend they left the azure shade of the cliff. Above their heads extended the last angle of the bulwarks, and a stone sentry post; across the harbor, with its mouth flanked by two illuminated towers, and on the opposite bank rose the heights of Monte Carlo, with its huge buildings, and its glistening cupolas, which were reflecting the last rosy fire of the twilight.

They both halted instinctively. In the middle of the harbor, the yacht, the white yacht of the Prince of Monaco, lay motionless, tugging at her buoy. Beside the nearby dock a few latine rigged boats were pitching, moving their single mast, and a Spanish steamer, displaying its neutral flag, was unloading sacks of rice, and barrels of wine. The presence of various groups of men gathered in front of the boat made them prudent. They were no longer alone. Once more they had entered the life of the City.

"How short the road was!" exclaimed the Prince.

She thought the same. "Yes; how short!"

They could no longer walk together. It was necessary to say good-by there, far from the crowd.

Alicia held out both hands.

"Nothing more?" sighed Michael.

The Duchess hesitated a moment. Then, with the agility of a young girl, as though she were still the wild Amazon of the Bois de Boulogne, she sprang for his open arms.

"There, there, and there!"

There were three rapid fiery kisses, that only lasted for a second; three kisses that made Lubimoff think he had never felt one in all his life, since he had never experienced the quivering that swept his body from head to feet.

"More! Give me more!"

She laughed at his imploring look.

"Enough folly. Another time, who knows! – For the present I am worried again. I am afraid to enter my house: I feel terror and hope. Oh, the news that I may receive at any moment! Tell me; do you really think that nothing has happened to him? Do you think he may come back?"

CHAPTER VIII

SPADONI entered Novoa's room with the intention of getting him to talk. At present he was an ardent believer in the professor's knowledge, and seeing him well disposed toward gambling and inclined to meditate on its mysteries, he hoped with simple faith that the scientist would discover something miraculous, some brilliant idea that would make them both wealthy. On that account the pianist arose earlier than he was wont, to surprise the professor during his toilet, considering this the proper time for matters of confidence.

"The word 'chance,'" said Novoa, "is a term devoid of meaning; or, I should say rather, chance does not exist. It is an invention of our human weakness, our ignorance. We say that a phenomenon takes place by chance when the causes either are unknown to us or seem impossible to analyze. We are ignorant of the causes of the majority of things that occur and we get out of the difficulty by attributing them to chance."

The musician opened his eyes wide, and his olive features contracted with a look of respectful attention. He did not understand the scientist's words very clearly, but he admired them in advance, as a prelude to revelations which would be more practical, and of immediate application.

"Every phenomenon," continued Novoa, "no matter how slight it seems, has a cause, and the man with an infinitely powerful brain, infinitely well informed of the laws of Nature, would be capable of foreseeing everything that might happen within a few minutes or within a few centuries. With a man like this it would be impossible to play any gambling game. Chance would not exist for him. Having the secret of the small causes that at present escape our intelligence, and a knowledge of the laws that control their combinations, he would know absolutely everything that might arise from the mystery of a pack of cards or from the numbers of a roulette wheel. No one could hope to win from him."

"Oh, Professor!" sighed the pianist, in admiration.

Inwardly he prayed that his illustrious friend would go on studying. Who knows but what a professor might become that all-powerful person, and, taking pity on a poor pianist, allow him to follow in his trail of glory!

Novoa smiled at Spadoni's simplicity and went on talking.

"The number of facts which we attribute to chance (and chance is nothing but a fictitious cause created by our ignorance) varies, in the same ratio as our ignorance varies, according to the times and according to the individual. Many things which are chance for an uneducated person, are not chance for a man of learning. What is chance to-day will not be perhaps within a few years. Scientific discoveries finally diminish considerably the domain of chance, just as our ignorance decreases."

The pianist's face beamed with a rapt expression.

"You are a great scholar, Professor, a great scholar!.. Don't shake your head; I know what I'm saying. I have a feeling of certainty that, if you go on studying these important matters, you will find a system which…"

The Spaniard interrupted him, pointing to a pack of cards on a nearby table. It was easy to guess that he had been studying during the night, before going to bed. These cards were for Spadoni evidence of scientific studiousness, worthier of respect than all the books from the library of the Prince, which lay forgotten in the corners. At present the Professor was interested in the mysteries of chance, and Spadoni was certain that he would discover something better than anything which had been invented thus far by ordinary gamblers.

But his hope vanished at Novoa's gesture of dismay.

"Look at that pack of cards: A few pieces of cardboard and, nevertheless, they contain the immensity of the universe! They cause in one the feeling of dizziness inspired by the Infinite, just as when you look upward with a telescope or downward with a microscope. Do you know how many combinations can be made with a pack of fifty-two cards? I don't know how to express it: nor will you find the figure in a dictionary or an arithmetic, as it is useless, since it lies beyond human calculations. Let us coin the word: eighty unidecillions, or the figure eight followed by sixty-six ciphers. Two men who began to play with a pack of fifty-two cards and played a hand every minute, each hand being different, would not be able to exhaust all the possible combinations in five million centuries."

There was a long silence, as though the walls of the room had shrunk under the weight of these inconceivable numbers. Spadoni bowed his head.

"Now, tell me," continued the Professor, "what can a poor human being, with all his calculations of probabilities, do against this infinity!"

And seizing a handful of cards, he let them fall again like a whispering rain of colors on the table.

"Everything depends on chance," he added, "or I should say, on error. We lose through error and win through it likewise. Our error is the result of an infinity of infinitesimal errors due to another infinity of small causes, the analysis of which we cannot even attempt. These tiny causes are all independent of one another, and since they are directed by chance, they operate in one way as readily as in another. When the infinitesimal is positive, it causes us to win, when it is negative, we lose."

Spadoni nodded his head, although he scarcely understood. The one thing clear to him were the infinitesimal errors which cause us to lose. He was acquainted with them; they were like microbes, malevolent germs, which always clung to him. He wished that his learned friend might discover an antiseptic that would put an end to them.

"Besides," said Novoa, "if there are probabilities of winning, these probabilities are in proportion to the wealth of the gamblers. A poor gambler has less chance of winning than one who has capital at his disposal."

"Then, how about us?" the musician asked in a melancholy voice.

"We are the under dogs and were born to be victims. Gambling is an image of life: the strong triumph over the weak."

Spadoni remained thoughtful.

"I have seen wealthy gamblers," he said, "who were finally ruined like the rest."

"Because they don't stop in time, at the point where the resisting power of their capital brings the hour of winning. In life, as well, the great devourers, soldiers, multi-millionaires, and rulers, are in turn devoured in the final leveling: death. But before that time, they triumph through a powerful means that fate has placed in their hands. We who are poor, never triumph continuously for a whole day. Trying to win a great fortune with small capital is equivalent to wanting to lose that small capital."

They both fell silent, discouraged; but Novoa seemed to have suffered the contagion of his companion's dreams, and felt the necessity of bolstering him up again with some fantastic meditation fit for a gambler.

"You know, Spadoni, how much one can win with a thousand francs? Last night I undertook to make the calculation."

He pointed to a piece of paper covered with figures which was protruding from among the cards. So Novoa was up to the same tricks as the pianist!

"With a thousand francs, doubling each time in forty-three games (some four hours), one could win a block of gold a hundred thousand million times as large as the sun."

"Oh, Professor!"

They both looked at each other with mystic ardor, as though they were actually contemplating this immeasurable block. Beside such a vision what did the winnings of a few paltry millions mean?

Toledo was beginning to realize, little by little, the gradual transformation of his friend, the scientist.

Novoa was greatly interested in his personal appearance; he had asked the Colonel to recommend him to his tailor in Nice; and the Professor made frequent trips to the latter city, merely to make purchases.

Besides, he was gambling. Don Marcos frequently surprised him beside a table in the Casino, standing and meditating before risking one of the few chips which he held tightly in his hand. He seemed dazzled by the ease with which he won. The amounts were small, but so large in comparison with those which he had received for his previous work as a Professor! In half an hour he could win a month's salary. In an afternoon he had succeeded in amassing three thousand francs; half a year's work at teaching and in the laboratory.

Monte Carlo seemed to him an interesting place and life there a quiet relaxation, which stood out above the grave, laborious monotony of his previous existence. The Museum of Oceanography could wait; it would not move away during his absence from the point on the rock of Monaco. The science of maritime zoology was not going to be revolutionized in a few months. And when the director saw him with a gay excited look enter, from time to time, the quiet silent atmosphere of the Museum, and when he observed his gay clothes, and the closeness with which he followed men's style, he sadly shook his head. Novoa was not the first. Oh, Monte Carlo! The old professors looked with the stern face of prophets at the city opposite. Young men who arrived from various places in the world to study the mysteries of the ocean, ended by making mathematical calculations on the probabilities of roulette.

"Besides, he is in love," said Castro, communicating to Toledo his impressions in regard to Novoa. "When he isn't gambling he is with that Valeria woman."

They were engaged. The professor, with an air of mystery, had told this to all his friends, asking each one to keep the secret. After idle gallantries as a student, this was the first, the great love of his life. He was worried somewhat by the humbleness of his position. When they were married what would Valeria say on learning how little he earned as a scientist? But immediately he placed his hope on gambling, the undreamt of fortune which at present offered itself each day.

"If this goes on a few months," he told the Colonel, "I will have gotten together a tidy little sum before I have completed my studies. Every day I lay something aside, and nevertheless I am spending more than ever. I must dress smartly like my fiancée."