september! springtime! buenos aires with all the handsome trees of its avenues, its parks and open squares, and of its wide promenades along the river bank, was turning green as if by magic, offering to the delighted eye every conceivable shade of verdure. it was as though the hand of a great and invisible artist were retouching the somewhat faded picture winter had turned over to him. he crushed under his swift brush the emerald of english lawns, spattered canary yellow on the shoots of young shrubs, with an impatient stroke of the knife scraped from the leaf fronds their velvety coverings of dull blue, burnt sienna and fawn, in order to freshen them up with aurora yellow, sepia, cobalt; poured out on the great parks all the chromes of his cosmic palate; rejuvenated the willows with ingenious splashes of those gamboge shades which remind one of fantastic tropical climes; and turned high noon into a glittering dream of gold. oh, springtime in buenos aires! season of awakening grace and enchanting harmony, with nothing of the torpor of hot climates, the over-vivid colorings of the tropics, nor of the sluggishness of those lands where nature puts human energy to sleep through a long winter! springtime in buenos aires! the air quivers with a dust of gold, which seems to float down from the brilliant sky, emanate from the trees, the flowers, and the grass, enveloping the buildings and transfiguring the human beings who pass through it. springtime in buenos aires!
but for monsalvat the spring was a season of sadness. to him the light and color and sounds of the reinvigorated city were meaningless. he noticed neither the satisfaction of the plants and grasses in the stir of life within them, nor the delight shining in the faces about him. he was alone in the universe, a stranger to the world he lived in, for that world was now his enemy; a stranger also, through birth and station, to the world of those who are down-trodden, and oppressed. his mother dead, his sister lost, and that other woman in whom his new life had taken form, as yet unfound, he was alone. the friends of former times laughed at his ideas and ideals, said he had a new "pose," thought him crazy. what could he discuss with them except the trivial events of the social farce? they neither understood him nor wished to understand. he was utterly and irrevocably alone. if some one chanced to mention the beauty of the day, he answered—but to himself—"what is that to me?" what is there beyond our own sensations? does even the material world exist save as our senses make us aware of it? and his sensations told him that there was nothing but sadness, grief, loneliness and gloom in all the human beings around him. the world was his own unhappy creation, the work of his agonized spirit. no, that springtide was for him a time of bitterness.
all the while nacha, with her somewhat ingenuous aspirations to a new kind of life was hiding at mlle. dupont's, monsalvat had been searching for her. with torres, he had sought her at mme. annette's toward the beginning of september, about a month before nacha had gone there. he had been also to the house of juanita sanmartino, and the more recent disappointment of not finding nacha there filled him with gloomy foreboding. where was she? no one knew. torres was certain she had not returned to her former means of livelihood; for in that case she would have appeared at one of these houses. it was torres' theory that she was living with someone, perhaps some former friend, perhaps a recent chance acquaintance.
and eugenia monsalvat? no one could give him any clue to her whereabouts either. had she changed her name? was she dead? or dragging out a wretched existence in the big city's underworld?
towards the end of september, an appointment as second chief of staff in a department of the ministry of foreign relations came to distract monsalvat from his obsession of loneliness and failure. he began now to spend all his afternoons working at the ministry. some of his colleagues, who had heard the rumors current about monsalvat's opinions and eccentricities, tried to make him talk, to force him to commit himself; but he maintained his reserve, and skillfully turned aside the indiscreet insinuations aimed at him.
on a certain morning of this same month, monsalvat betook himself to his mother's former lodgings, for he thought it time to call upon the morenos. since the morning when he had suspected that irene was in danger of falling in love with him, he had avoided seeing her. what might such a feeling on her part lead to? yet, free as he was from other entanglements why should he not accept the affection of this pretty and passionate girl? she was experienced enough to know what she was doing—there would be no deception.... in his solitude, with no friend on all the wide horizon of his life, why run away from irene?... but there was nacha.... what though his search had been useless, and he had no news of her, nor any kind of assurance that she ever thought of him? no; he could not, now, permit himself to love another woman. he was bound as by a vow. was he then in love with nacha? one whole week he fought out the answer; called himself ridiculous, despised himself, tried to detach his thoughts from everything which might draw him towards her; it was of no avail. on the contrary, the more he thought of her the more he longed to find her. but he had not forgotten irene. he did not go to see her; but he sent her money in amounts which to her family seemed enormous. irene wrote to thank him and asked to be allowed to see him in his rooms if he would not come to call on her.
on this september afternoon monsalvat found the entire moreno family at home, to his relief; for he did not want to be alone with irene.
"my protector," exclaimed moreno, at sight of him, "my doctor, savior of my accursed tribe, light of legal science! model of generosity!"
monsalvat protested at these eulogies and tried to escape from moreno's determined embrace. his wife was laughing at her husband, and at the same time, crying, as she kissed monsalvat's hand and pointed to the children.
"we cannot permit such modesty, doctor. we are yours, entirely yours. to think that the whole moreno family, and moreno himself ... quantum mutatus ab illo! as cicero said. you see i do not forget my latin! culture, doctor! i was a man of law once, i lived among books and historic cases—and now i am a pauper, a drunkard, a...."
irene, standing in a corner of the room, covered her face, ashamed. from the moment monsalvat had come into the room she had not moved, waiting for the avalanche of thanks she had foreseen, to pass. monsalvat, as embarrassed as she by moreno's words, finally made his way through the huddling children and held out his hand to her.
"the flower of my house!" exclaimed moreno, adding in a melancholy tone, "ah, if we were not so poor, i would give her to no one but a prince—or—pardon me—to a dr. monsalvat, who is like a prince; for he is a prince of jurisprudence...."
neither monsalvat nor irene were listening. monsalvat had started when he felt irene's burning hand in his, and saw her eyes, darkened with the passion that consumed her. he looked at her a moment and, not knowing what to say, turned to address moreno's fawning flattery. monsalvat then took leave, saying he had come especially to learn if irene had some news for him.
"i am going to tell it to you. come!" irene replied with a strange burst of energy; and she faced him with flashing eyes and quivering lips.
monsalvat shook hands with her parents and followed to the narrow hallway which led to the stairs. moreno was coming along too but irene told him to stay with her mother.
"she gives the orders! now you see, doctor, what has become of my paternal authority. i'm just the watch-dog. i hear and obey, for fear of the whip! when your career is over, that's what you get! my dear doctor, i am your servant!" monsalvat followed irene down the dark hall for a few yards. they came closer to one another, his clothing touched hers. he was conscious of the girl's burning passion, he felt himself being drawn towards her. in the semi-darkness irene's brilliant eyes gleamed strangely.
"well, what news?" asked monsalvat uneasily.
"news!" irene with quick violence pulled monsalvat's face toward hers and placed on his mouth her hot, trembling lips.
he turned faint. his will abandoned him. he heard the wild, mad words irene was saying. "he must take her away!" she pressed her trembling body close to his. suddenly monsalvat came to himself. nacha's image arose before his eyes.... with a strength which came from the depths of his soul he pushed irene away from him. this poor passionate girl was threatening his ideal. all that he had so far accomplished was in danger of crumbling to dust. the only justification of his life would, with a moment's weakness, be lost. he said good-bye to her, asked her to forgive him and walked quietly toward the stairs.
"don't leave me this way," she cried. "if i can't work for you, live for you, i shall die, i shall kill myself ... if you won't take me with you!"
but monsalvat did not hear. he was already in the street.
irene, shaken by violent shudders and sobs, with a wild cry, threw herself against the wall.
after this episode he was more eager than ever to find nacha. he began to make the rounds of cabarets, restaurants, and theatres. but day after day passed, and there was not the slightest news of her. he began to despair when it occurred to him that the streets might furnish him the information he so anxiously sought. he became a vagabond, roaming about hour after hour, morning, afternoon, and night. the avenues in the centre of the city, those where women of pleasure passed, came to know him. he thought he saw nacha, quickened his step, followed the woman. it was not she. he sought her face in the crowds that all morning wander idly up and down the avenida florida. he sought it in the throngs loitering on the wide promenade when the lights of the shop windows drive back the shadows of the high buildings. he sought her among the young and pretty women who surreptitiously pass up and down the avenue, in quest of bread, love, pleasure. he sought her at night in the streets leading toward the theatres, the movies, the cabarets. and his shadow passing up and down these places was no different from that of a man timidly seeking a daughter of joy. the thousand noises of the street, the cries of newspaper venders, automobile horns, street-car gongs, phonographs playing in the shops, the persistent scraping of shoe leather on the sidewalk, the voices of the toy venders, of the sellers of lottery tickets, of the flower girls, rang out in the strange chaotic symphony of the city. but he was deaf to it all. lights glittered, electric street-signs flashed; blue, red, green, yellow lamps shone out from windows, sometimes far above the street; but he went by unaware of all this nightly brilliancy. the show windows tempted with jewels, flowers, books; he was blind to them. he went on, heedless of the marvelous spectacle offered by the streets of cosmopolitan exuberant, noisy, energetic, restless buenos aires. he was incapable of seeing anything but the face he sought: nacha's face.
and while he searched for nacha, he searched the streets for his sister also. but not with the same eagerness. for eugenia, whom he scarcely knew, he had never had much affection. besides, there was so little hope of finding her in this fashion! in the ten years that had passed since he had seen her, the transformation of an innocent twenty year old girl into a courtesan must have been thoroughly accomplished. how could he recognize her even if he met her? he wanted to come upon her and help her, yes;—but from sense of duty; and because of his mother's last wish.
october now. a month and a half had passed in useless searching. discouraged, he thought of giving up all hope, and returning to his former way of life, since he had failed in his first duty, that of finding nacha. he tried to discover arguments to justify his abandoning what he called his "duty." what was nacha after all? well then—was he going to fall in love with that kind of a woman, and make her represent an ideal, a duty, a reason for living? had he brought ruin upon her? why did he want to see her?
he began to think that he would never find her, that she was irrecoverably lost. and it was his fault! it was he who had gone to see her, tried to influence her, caused trouble between her and her lover. it was only just that he should help her to regain her moral independence, the right she shared with every human being to hope and to love. he could not let her continue in slavery, any more than he could allow any other human beings whom he, personally, knew, to remain enslaved! but he hoped also, in saving her, to save himself. it was not exploitation by others that threatened him, but his own coldness of fear, and the uselessness of his empty life. he wanted to free himself from the clutch of vanity, from the all-enveloping net of human selfishness. he must accomplish something good and great! to redeem the slaves of degrading labor, of destructive passion, of vice and greed, there was a man's task. well, the opportunity for that might come....
but meanwhile there was a girl who was unhappy, who needed his help. would it be such a small thing to save her? he could imagine himself quite content were that accomplished. suddenly hope sprang up in the midst of his discouragement. if his tenants refused to allow the improvements he had wanted to make in the tenement, he would use the forty thousand pesos of his mortgage in carrying on a thorough search of the city. surely nacha would be found! before long, however, he had to part with a considerable sum to pay off his mother's debts; and to buy from celedonia some letters of eugenia's which the mulatto intimated she could profitably sell to the newspapers. monsalvat had an uneasy feeling that this procedure of hers had been suggested by that enthusiastic admirer of his, moreno.
one october afternoon torres, whom he met on the street, exclaimed, "i have some news. nacha has gone back to the profession. a few days ago she was at madame annette's." this was a blow as well as a relief. but his friend's words seemed to summon nacha from the air. all that afternoon, all night, all the next day, and the days following, nacha was with him, and in the midst of intense suffering he felt a new, strange joy....
