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HISTORICAL AND CULTURAL
INTERCONNECTIONS BETWEEN
LATIN AMERICA AND ASIA

Argentinean Literary
Orientalism
From Esteban Echeverría to
Roberto Arlt

Axel Gasquet
Historical and Cultural Interconnections between
Latin America and Asia

Series Editors
Ignacio López-Calvo
University of California, Merced
Merced, CA, USA

Kathleen López
Rutgers University
New Brunswick, NJ, USA
This series is devoted to the diversity of encounters between Latin America
and Asia through multiple points of contact across time and space. It welcomes
different theoretical and disciplinary approaches to define, describe, and explore
the histories and cultural production of people of Asian descent in Latin America
and the Caribbean. It also welcomes research on Hispano-Filipino history and
cultural production. Themes may include Asian immigration and geopolitics, the
influence and/or representation of the Hispanic world in Asian cultures, Orien-
talism and Occidentalism in the Hispanic world and Asia, and other transpacific
and south-south exchanges that disrupt the boundaries of traditional academic
fields and singular notions of identity. The geographical scope of the series incor-
porates the linguistic and ethnic diversity of the Pacific Rim and the Caribbean
region. We welcome single-author monographs and volumes of essays from
experts in the field from different academic backgrounds.
About the series editors:
Ignacio López-Calvo is Professor of Latin American Literature at the Univer-
sity of California, Merced, USA and director of the UC Merced Center for the
Humanities. He is author of several books on Latin American and US Latino
literature. He is co-executive director of the academic journal Transmodernity:
Journal of Peripheral Cultural Production of the Luso-Hispanic World.
Kathleen López is Associate Professor in the Department of Latino and
Caribbean Studies and Department of History at Rutgers, The State University
of New Jersey, USA. She is author of Chinese Cubans: A Transnational History
(2013) and a contributor to Critical Terms in Caribbean and Latin American
Thought (2015), Immigration and National Identities in Latin America (2016),
and Imagining Asia in the Americas (2016).

Advisory Board
Koichi Hagimoto, Wellesley College, USA
Evelyn Hu-DeHart, Brown University, USA
Junyoung Verónica Kim, University of Pittsburgh, USA
Ana Paulina Lee, Columbia University, USA
Debbie Lee-DiStefano, Southeast Missouri State University, USA
Shigeko Mato, Waseda University, Japan
Zelideth María Rivas, Marshall University, USA
Robert Chao Romero, University of California, Los Angeles, USA
Lok Siu, University of California, Berkeley, USA
Araceli Tinajero, City College of New York, USA
Laura Torres-Rodríguez, New York University, USA

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15129
 Axel Gasquet

Argentinean Literary
Orientalism
From Esteban Echeverría to Roberto Arlt
Axel Gasquet
Department of Spanish Studies
University of Clermont Auvergne
Clermont-Ferrand, France

Translated by
José I. Suárez
University of Northern Colorado
Greeley, CO, USA

Historical and Cultural Interconnections between Latin America and Asia

ISBN 978-3-030-54465-2 ISBN 978-3-030-54466-9 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54466-9

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For Nina and David, again and always
 Preface to the English Edition

This study, while innovative, is not comprehensive because it is part of a

larger research project. It is one of three volumes analyzing the impact
and consequences of the East on Argentinean literary culture throughout
slightly more than two centuries. The first two were published in Spanish
in 2007 and 2015 respectively. Material collection coupled with varied
textual sources led to the decision of a three-volume publication based
along chronological and thematic lines. Each volume exhibits an internal
coherence that responds to its authors’ synchronic intonation, and a
diachronic one that covers the great chapters of Argentinean culture since
independence.
The project aims at an extensive intellectual and cultural history of
the Eastern tradition in Argentina, with each volume having a specific
focus: the first, on literary orientalism; the second, on the cultural history
of orientalism; the third, on the incidence of the orientalist theme in
the development of twentieth-century Argentinean culture. Such coher-
ence provides certain elementary organizational principles for observing
the diverse dialogues between Argentinean literary culture and Eastern
cultures, with allowance for the widest and most indistinct boundaries.
This complex interplay of Argentinean Orientalism is often contradictory
or misaligned with the real East because it was not only conceived as an
imaginary cultural space, but also as an intricate and problematic political,
historical, and cultural body. From experience as well as contact, multi-
faceted discourses arise that provide evidence: no single East existed that

vii
viii PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

spanned all generations as the product of an essentialism that ran through

the ages. On the contrary, it is quickly noticed that the East, as a polit-
ical and cultural entity, is diverse, plural, polymorphic, and its contours
and limits are always mobile and of a variable geometry. Therefore, we
question ourselves about its scope and boundaries, as well as when did
this or that region or country belonged to the East in a real historical and
political manner and in an imaginary cultural, artistic, and literary one.
However, the fact that this is the first volume of a trilogy does not make
it any less rigorous and exhaustive than the others. It may be read and
discussed autonomously, regardless of other publications. Each volume
seeks to harmoniously adhere to the preceding stages of the research while
contributing new analytical elements in a different historical and cultural
context, whether in Argentina or globally.
This study’s contents have been favorably received by specialists and
academic critics in Ibero-America. From its original 2007 publication, its
research has filled a long-standing lacuna by detailing and examining how
Orientalist discourse occupied a prominent place in the construction of
an Argentinian national identity within West civilization, by combining
elements of local and global interpretation. It is a modest attempt to
break the hegemony of a limited vision in Ibero-American studies, which
has been constrained to an everlasting dialogue between America and
Europe, impervious to elements outside that exclusive relationship. This
work seeks to introduce a different equation to the Argentinean and
South American cultural configuration, by studying the contribution of
and dialogue with Eastern cultures and peoples, in the broadest possible
sense.
To accomplish our purpose, it has been necessary to modify some
analytical foundations. For example, and without wanting to contradict
some of the unavoidable contributions of the post-colonial approach, our
vision of the East-West phenomenon tends to surpass this critical stance
and is situated in another space. Indeed, we start from a different set of
methodological presuppositions. To us, it does not matter to what extent
the terms “Orient” or “Orientalism” are reviled in contemporary criti-
cism. And though these critical premises are assumed in our investigation,
we have had to depart from the fact that in the West, always and every-
where, then and now, average persons/readers think that they are knowl-
edgeable when referring to the East, that is, about its reality, cultures,
or religions. It is enough to follow the mass media in any South Amer-
ican country to notice that “this Orient” has an obvious embodiment in
 PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION ix

Western perceptions. Of course, we critically analyze many of these views,

but this does not erase the fact that an “unfair, partial, and essentialist”
configuration of the East constantly permeates our political and historical
reality via our cultural imaginary. As mentioned, all think that they know
what the East is or, at least, they claim to have a cursory idea about it.
It matters little if this vision is narrow-minded, vague, or fallacious. If we
wish to erase these misconceptions, we must begin by analyzing what the
East truly represents to Latin Americans, though this discourse is based on
premises that we either reject because of their theoretical underpinnings,
or for being founded on an ideologized historical reality.
Thus, this research is based on an analysis of sources, with the goal of
always placing them within a rigorous historical context. We aim to avoid
anachronisms while putting matters in their proper historical perspective.
The guiding principle behind this work is to analyze how this Orientalist
discourse imported from Europe was adapted to the Argentinean national
reality and how it developed a new meaning within this milieu. In other
words, we intend to demonstrate how Argentinean Orientalism is not
merely a copy of the European model, but rather an adaptation of the
Eastern discourse in a strictly local sphere that, consequently, generated a
new meaning only understood in said context.
An outcome of this research was the verification of how an Orientalist
discourse, so obviously foreign, would serve to set the perimeters of a
civilizational project for nineteenth-century Argentines, both in historical
and cultural terms. Had we wholly rejected Orientalism in toto—invali-
dated beforehand as an ideological element of colonial or post-colonial
domination—, we would have been unable to identify how this Orien-
talist discourse underscored the configuration and emergence of a specific
concept that applies to the contemporary Argentinean nation. We do not
disagree with current criticism about how the ideological characteristics
of European Orientalist discourse served as an instrument of domina-
tion through knowledge; on the contrary, these criticisms are accepted
and expounded. It is also not our intent to merely denounce current
Western Orientalism in its South American variant, but rather to deter-
mine how this discourse generates a new meaning (while still employing
a distorted and prejudiced version of the East) through its local adapta-
tion. Trends are, by definition, ephemeral, but when a subject exceeds
a generation and covers an extended period, then it is fair to say that
this apparent trend reveals something important: the intergenerational
multiplicity of discourses around the East show the existence of a more
x PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

permanent and genuine interest in this cultural region; the explanation of

this phenomenon stems from more complex and, until now, undetected
reasons.
Another important aspect of our study is its global approach, which
leans toward a totalization within the context in which these discourses
take place. This means that, even when we occasionally analyze a specific
text or author, we always function within a general knowledge of the
phenomenon, in its synchronic and diachronic aspects as enclosed in
Argentinean cultural history and, often, in reference to literary and
cultural histories of Europe, Asia, and North Africa. Hence, this research is
an eminently comparative body of work that invokes knowledge exceeding
that of an Argentinean context.
Some readers perhaps will have already guessed a premise that we
will now explain: this research is not exclusively focused on criticizing
the inadequacy of the Orientalist imaginary as compared with the “real
Orient” within Argentinean history and literary culture. Although we
also discuss this point, what guides our research is an attempt to unveil
the meanders of this, until recently unknown, cultural history in Argen-
tinean literature and confirming, through an in-depth study of known
sources (many until now largely dismissed) that, in their diachronic conti-
nuity, these discourses were “generators of new meaning” in the cultural
context of Argentines. Our purpose has always been to observe how these
discourses concretely operated within Argentinean intellectual history as
generators of internal meaning for the nation. It is common knowledge
that Argentina never had any imperial or expansionist aspirations beyond
its borders. Therefore, the premises, which make Orientalism an ideolog-
ical discourse serving to build a hegemony of Western colonial knowledge
over the East, are not operative in this case (or have very little legitimacy).
Argentina’s objectives during the nineteenth century did not involve an
imperial or neo-imperial appropriation of the East; instead, such topics
were the tools that allowed Argentines to establish their national spatial
epicenter, the Pampas, and its internal barbarism (identified through social
subjects such as gauchos, or the integration/extermination of its indige-
nous population to make room for European immigrants). This double
conceptualization of its internal barbarism coupled with its physical space
largely allowed Argentina to elaborate a project for its present-day civi-
lization that, with some modifications, endures. Our analysis uncovers the
positive outcome of this project.
 PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION xi

Without a detailed investigation, it is undoubtedly rash to generalize

the lessons learned from the Argentinean case and its Orientalist influ-
ence with those experienced by other South American countries. In this
regard, it is advisable for us to be prudent and to perhaps err by being
excessively cautious than by being excessively naive. Each historical case
follows and evolves in different contexts, thus making comparison almost
impossible. Yet, we must at least point out one determining factor of the
Argentinean case that may also be observed elsewhere in Ibero-America:
the notions of the East conceived since independence are not homolo-
gous with European imperialist aspirations; rather, each has a local bent.
An in-depth study on Orientalism in other Ibero-American countries, like
this one on Argentina, is still pending.

Châtel-Guyon, France Axel Gasquet

October 2019
 Contents

Part I Introduction

1 Which East by Way of the South? 3

2 The European Archetype and the Debate

on the Eastern Question 13

Part II The East in the Pampas

3 The Romantic Importation of Esteban Echeverría

and Juan Bautista Alberdi 41

4 An Ideological Reading of Domingo Faustino

Sarmiento 69

Part III Eastern Prints from Globetrotters, Tourists and

Positivists

5 The Worldly Splendor of Lucio Victorio Mansilla 99

xiii
xiv CONTENTS

6 The Judicious Enlightenment of Pastor Servando

Obligado 133

7 The Hygienist Modernity of Eduardo Faustino Wilde 165

Part IV Mirages of the East

8 Arabesques and Chinoiseries in the Imagination

of Leopoldo Lugones 205

9 The Moorish African Fiction of Roberto Arlt 237

Part V Building Up a Literary and Cultural History of

Argentinian Orientalism

10 General Conclusion 263

Bibliography 273

Author Index 291

Lok Index 299

 PART I

Introduction
 CHAPTER 1

Which East by Way of the South?

They have discovered these and other horrendous things, but never
mentioned what is wonderful about the East, as if all those who had written
about it were great bastards.
Umberto Eco, Baudolino (2000)

We never go so far as when we know not where we are going.

Oliver Cromwell

This study analyzes a seemingly marginal subject within Argentinean

literature: Orientalism, the attraction for the East—its cultures and exotic
influence. After the publication of The Ruins or Meditation on the Revo-
lutions of Empires by Constantin-François de Volney, as well as the
works of Domingo F. Sarmiento or Juan Bautista Alberdi, Eastern issues
aroused aesthetic as well as political interest in Argentina. Orientalism
is a constituent part in the formation of Argentinean national literature.
Eastern literature arrived in the River Plate region with a European bias.
During the eighteenth century, the East began to be viewed in the West as
new and untamed regions that stood opposite to Eurocentric civilization.
The image of the Other was created, from which one had to urgently
distance oneself to affirm Europe as the continent of civilization, the
pinnacle of all arts and sciences. Concurrently, the East became attractive
to Westerners because of its diverse cultures. Yet, the East was difficult
to characterize through a collection of epithets, whether stigmatizing or

© The Author(s) 2020 3

A. Gasquet, Argentinean Literary Orientalism, Historical and
Cultural Interconnections between Latin America and Asia,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54466-9_1
4 A. GASQUET

laudatory. It inspired all types of thinkers, artists, and adventurers. In its

positive European version, the East had to conform to the picturesque
as defined by Western anthropology. It is fair to say that this definition
did not serve to negate, but rather to corroborate, in Europe, a negative
political image of the East: all despotism is imbued with Eastern traits.

Prolegomena
The impact of travel literature on early Argentinean literature is known,
but the study of incipient Orientalism in the political and literary spheres
has been neglected. In that sense, Argentinean Orientalism is not simply
an imitation of its European version. On the contrary, Argentinean
Orientalism exhibits a strong form of regional adaptation. It became an
endogenous element of the so-called South American barbarism. South
America’s original flaw in its political thought would have been stricken
by the concept of Eastern fatality. Hence, Orientalism became an indis-
pensable conceptual tool in any analysis of institutional deficiencies and
the national political organization. Eastern thought took hold in South
America by gradually being adapted. It acquired an autonomy that could
be compared to the European and American models. From that moment
on, the attraction and repulsion of the East would become a constant
in Argentinean literature. Though always marginal and rarely perceptible,
our objective here is to realize an evaluation of this persistent component
in this literature. We will analyze the importance of the Eastern themes in
the works of Esteban Echeverría, Alberdi, Sarmiento, Lucio V. Mansilla,
Pastor S. Obligado, Eduardo F. Wilde, Leopoldo Lugones, and Roberto
Arlt.
Given the breadth of Argentinean Orientalist literature, it was necessary
to limit this study to works published before 1941, with our final analysis
devoted to the African writings of Roberto Arlt. Until the 1920s, echoes
of Eastern assimilation resonated within the ideological and cultural
layout of the land. Eastern imprints, perceptible in the mood of the
Independence Centennial celebrations (1910), are characterized by the
political construction and appropriation of the discourse on the East, a
process that has subsequently dissipated. We will try to show that, with
obvious cultural ramifications, Orientalism clearly played a long-standing
ideological role in the Argentinean political sphere before acquiring its
autonomy and slowly achieving greater creative freedom and evocative
strength.
 1 WHICH EAST BY WAY OF THE SOUTH? 5

Another fundamental trait of Argentinean Orientalism literature is

that, from Sarmiento and Mansilla, testimonies of Argentinean travelers
through these regions began to be published regularly. This essential
change represents a decisive and qualitative leap: Orientalist readers were
now travelers who rendered their testimony in writing. Obviously, this
testimony did not presuppose the objectivity of their statements. Voyages
to the East were by now quite common and travelers adhered to widely
known travel guides that were also ideologically flawed; however, in situ
presence assured travelers the chance of forming objective reconsid-
erations. Their European archetypes were, for the most part, derived
from French writers (Volney, Chateaubriand, Hugo, Lamartine, Gautier,
Nerval, Flaubert), but also from Spanish (Espronceda, Larra, Zorrilla,
et al.) and English Romantic writers (Byron). It is noteworthy that a
consistent objective of modern travel literature was to revisit places about
which classical authors had written, while also creating a kind of referential
itinerary or spiritual pilgrimage.
Before delving into an analysis of the various literary testimonies, we
will study the conditions of the ideological and political impact of Euro-
pean Orientalism on the River Plate region. This will require a review of
eighteenth-century Orientalist theses and their legacy of Enlightenment,
with reference to the case of Volney and the School of Ideology, which fills
the first chapter. We will also see how the Orientalist debate is presented
at the end of the eighteenth century (mostly in France) by attempting to
evaluate its ideological and aesthetic impact on the then young Argen-
tinean literary figures. Afterwards, throughout eight chapters, we will
introduce a chronological series of travel writers who were active for just
over a century (circa 1830–1940). To these we have accorded a mono-
graphic treatment. The methodological choice for this approach was
dictated by the length of the period studied. In addition, the chronolog-
ical progression of the monograph allows us to better convey the slow and
constant rhythm prevalent in the Orientalist discourse within Argentinean
literature while observing the essential features of its evolution.

What Is Orientalism?
This field of study is so vast that, not to risk going astray, it was necessary
to limit our research. Concerning Orientalism, what is the purpose of this
book? To understand the scope of Orientalism in Argentinean literature,
we will offer a series of clarifications that apply to the research range, to
6 A. GASQUET

the historical particularities unique to the River Plate region, and to the
limitations of our literary corpus.
Orientalism, as a discipline, includes all that relates to Eastern cultures,
religions, arts, and native languages. This wide range makes it a vague
and imprecise concept to study. Its conceptual imprecision is inversely
proportional to its ideological utility. At its core, Orientalism typically
includes almost all “non-Occidental” cultures, that is, it presupposes a
tacit knowledge of the West and implicitly places the geographical East
in the realm of radical Otherness. The Orientalist subject in the West
has always caused concern and can still do so to cultures south of the
Mediterranean (the Maghreb), the Eastern Mediterranean (the Levant)
or the Far East, but equally to that of Central Asia, the Caucasus region
and, in certain cases, Eastern Europe. Furthermore, until recently, Orien-
talism included certain regions of Sub-Saharan Africa, particularly those
with large Muslim populations (Sudan and the coastal areas along the
Indian Ocean) and non-Muslim countries (Ethiopia). In these latter cases,
Orientalism is devoid of any geographical notion and is reduced to a mere
ethnographic bias, that is, one that lumps together those areas that are
not part of the Western tradition. Thus, the term’s enormous interdisci-
plinary approaches. Orientalism is, by its nature a facile term to employ
when pointing out what is wrong with the East. In short, to Orientalists,
the East represents all that is inscrutable or exotic in comparison to the
West.
Our purpose here is not to examine the ideological usages of Orien-
talism. Edward Said, in his now classic work Orientalism (1978), has done
that in depth. This does not mean that we do not share most of his theses
as, for example, that the Orient is a political-ideological-cultural construc-
tion of the West, whose goal was to establish a symbolic form of political
control and supremacy over the East. This objective was reached through
European colonialism during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with
its predominantly British and French variants. However, unilaterally, Said
also reduces the East to Muslim Arab cultures, while neglecting the Far
East and the Indian subcontinent. Our aim, however, is not to delve into
the regional exclusions of the term, but to limit ourselves to the literary
one. Henceforth, we will study the ideological construction of the Argen-
tinean nation in the nineteenth century, with a special interest in the
political consequences of literary Orientalism in Argentina. This study will
therefore not pretend to participate in colonial/post-colonial studies.
 1 WHICH EAST BY WAY OF THE SOUTH? 7

What Is Argentinean Orientalism?

As mentioned, a multitude of historic aspects separate Argentinean Orien-
talist literature from its European model. The former occurred very
late and, consequently, postdates the European model. Yet, within the
global political context, historical considerations in both share similarities.
Argentines never had colonial aspirations other than to expand domesti-
cally by vanquishing the indigenous peoples of Southern Patagonia, the
Northwest, and the Central Western portion of the country. The impor-
tation and the adaptation of the Orientalist theme in the River Plate
region corresponded to political motivations different from those exposed
by Said in his book on European Orientalism. The fundamental dissimi-
larity rests on the fact that during the middle of the nineteenth century,
Argentina was not a great political power, nor did it aspire to be. Basi-
cally, the distinction separating Argentina from the European colonial
powers was its power disparity. In the middle of the nineteenth century,
Argentina was a developing nation struggling to find a secondary status
within the world’s geopolitics. Even in its most affluent days, Argentina
systematically constituted a region on the periphery of Capitalism, whose
task consisted of furnishing raw materials and agricultural products to
the principal capitalist countries, mostly those of Europe. For this reason,
Argentinian Orientalism was not shaped by colonial demands, like those
of Great Britain and France during the Restoration or the Second Empire.
Quite the opposite, Argentinean Orientalism adapted to an internal polit-
ical discourse that allowed an ideological-military operation targeting
its indigenous population. The same energy that incited the European
powers toward the colonization of entire regions only had domestic impli-
cations in Argentina. Indeed, the disastrous consequences of the wars
against its indigenous population were no less dramatic or less savage in
the Patagonian South than they were in the European colonies of North
Africa and Asia. But, from a strictly political and social perspective, Euro-
pean colonial expansion and Argentinean anti-indigenous wars did not
constitute comparable actions.
These activities were undertaken by distinctly different societies. France
and Great Britain were world powers with well-defined and solid Nation-
State models. They tried to reach world supremacy through economic
expansion at the expense of their colonized territories, sources of raw
materials that made them quite wealthy. Argentina had a different moti-
vation: as an aspiring young nation, it rose from having been a colony
8 A. GASQUET

to acquiring a permanent frontier culture. Said culture assumed a very

different spatial and cultural configuration than that of the European
nations, one that only resembles those of other New World regions.
Europeans in their countries never considered themselves colonists. Along
with American, Canadians and Australians, Chileans and Argentines of the
nineteenth and the early part of the twentieth century did view themselves
as colonists. Here is how Homero M. Guglielmini describes it:

Whatever the differences, the frontier “situation” is a typical element in the

evolution of New World societies. All, at a given moment in their devel-
opment, had to go through that phase…. The gradual conquest of the
Argentinean desert unfolds as the backdrop of its history, the perpetual and
recurring theme, the constant of its existence, beyond the political vicissi-
tudes, the episodes, and the characters who dazzle us in the foreground of
the stage. (Guglielmini 1972: 11)

This notion of a frontier culture served as a model for Argentinean

nationality. The depiction of this frontier society in its waning days can
still be appreciated in the works of William H. Hudson or Robert B.
Cunninghame Graham (Hudson 1999a, b; Cunninghame Graham 1997).
An understanding of the rise of this frontier mentality is essential to
being able to include Orientalist depictions in written compositions: these
authors’ works are based on the scenography of the desert. Without a
desert setting, a place characterized by barbarism, Argentinean Orien-
talism would have lost its importance and would have become an empty
term.
Said pointed out a major detail: the Orientalist mindset, though aimed
at Eastern cultures, reflects the societies where it is prevalent:

Orientalism responded more to the culture that produced it than to its

alleged subject, which was also a Western product. As such, the history of
Orientalism simultaneously consists of an internal coherence and a strongly
articulated set of relationships to the dominant surrounding culture. (Said
1980: 36)

This reflective characteristic of Orientalism constituted the common

foundation of European and Argentinean Orientalism. More than a thor-
ough understanding of their concrete realities, both are purely imaginary
representations of the East. These say more about the cultures that
produced Oriental motifs than they do about the actual object of their
 1 WHICH EAST BY WAY OF THE SOUTH? 9

studies. For this reason, over the course of the nineteenth century, Argen-
tinean Orientalism systematically took us back to the frontier society
that adopted it. (As mentioned, this so-called Orientalism was initially
borrowed from the classic French works as well as those of the Spanish
and English Romanticists.) However, beginning with Mansilla, the first
Argentinean traveler to have reached India and the Middle East, this
mere emulation parts ways with its imaginary significance. After Mansil-
la’s journey, it was no longer possible to view the “real” desert as
before. Consequently, Mansilla’s later observations and evaluations of
the Ranquel Indians completely differed from the clichés coined by
Sarmiento, his friend and mentor.
Orientalist literature is clearly situated in the representation realm; only
from this perspective can the desert around Volney’s Palmyra ruins be
compared to the Pampa desert as described by Echeverría. More than
just displaying a knowledge of the East, both embody the representation
of foreign cultures—the former inscribing them in the European West,
the latter in a peripheral Western culture, that of the Argentinean frontier
culture.
Since the late nineteenth century, with the advent of the Modernism,
the Eastern subject distanced itself from all political requirements. This
does not mean that the stereotypical clichés forged by preceding genera-
tions were not repeated, but instead, by becoming autonomous from the
reference to the “real” desert, the Orientalist inspiration fundamentally
embodied an expression of aesthetic freedom. This observation will be
studied in detail in the chapter devoted to Lugones. The aesthetic imper-
ative that drove Echeverría to make the Pampa desert the center of gravity
of literary creativity was no longer the focus of the Modernist generation.
Obviously, Modernism was also within the scope of Eastern representa-
tion, without it making any contribution to the real knowledge of these
foreign cultures. The Modernist configuration exclusively adhered to this
Exoticism criterion at the end of the nineteenth century.

The Argentinean Oriental Corpus

The Argentinean Orientalist literary corpus consists of texts that we
consider to be literary in the broadest sense of the word, that is, these
texts do not pretend to belong to those of scientific or academic works
written by specialists. They are not texts whose aim was to shed new
light or knowledge on the East and its cultures but, rather, they were
10 A. GASQUET

personal travel testimonials. Provided that they have been properly edited,
we will deal with fictional literary texts as well as travel narratives,
personal journals and chronicles, journalistic articles, some correspon-
dence, etc. Among the fictional texts, there are plays, tales, novels, and
poetry. The authors studied here are mostly recognized intellectuals,
even if several have been largely forgotten by Argentinean literary history
as, for example, Pastor S. Obligado.1 Others are famous authors of
nineteenth-century Argentina—Sarmiento, Alberdi, or Echeverría. While
others, although recognized, are known only through some of their writ-
ings as, for example, Mansilla, Wilde, Lugones, and Arlt. In short, they
are figures who have written about the East, but whose writings on the
subject remain unknown.
Our study does not pretend to completely address all Orientalist influ-
ences in Argentinean literature. Our aim, rather, is to concentrate on one
aspect of the literary culture that, though persistent, has not previously
been the subject of known monographs. In attempting to draw attention
to the Orientalist themes, we wanted to highlight the presence of their
fundamental role in the emergence of modern Argentinean political
thought as well as its notable aesthetic impact on literature. Sarmiento’s
conceptualization of civilization and barbarism, which permeates Argen-
tinean culture as a persistent leitmotiv, would not have been possible
without this national adaptation to Orientalism. In large part, it is due
to European Orientalism that Alberdi’s ideas could emerge along with
certain of Echeverría’s verses.
Other than acknowledging that a more exhaustive review of Argen-
tinean Orientalism remains to be realized, any all-encompassing project
would entail an in-depth study of the diffusion of Eastern literature and
thought along with its pertinent editorial work. Such a complex and
arduous undertaking far exceeds our present framework. Here, we would
like to start an initial exploration into an area that, except for a few
critical studies, remains largely neglected.

1 For length reasons, we are here omitting Chapter IX of the Spanish edition [Part
3], titled “The aesthetical traditionalism of Jorge Max Rohde” (233–267). We based our
decision on our belief that Rohde’s work would be of less interest to an English-speaking
readership. Those interested in his works should consult the Spanish edition.
 1 WHICH EAST BY WAY OF THE SOUTH? 11

References
Cunninghame Graham, Robert B. (1997). El Paso [El River Plate Region].
Paris: Phébus.
Guglielmini, Homero M. (1972). Fronteras de la literatura argentina. Buenos
Aires: Eudeba.
Hudson, William Henry (1999a). La tierra purpúrea. Buenos Aires: Elefante
Blanco.
Hudson, William Henry (1999b). Allá tiempo y hace lejos. Buenos Aires: Emecé.
Said, Edward W. (1980). Orientalisme: l’Orient crée par l’Occident. Paris: Seuil.
Foreword by Tzvetan Todorov.
 CHAPTER 2

The European Archetype and the Debate

on the Eastern Question

The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from
those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ours,
is not a pretty thing when you look at it closely. What redeems it is the
idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretense but an idea;
an unselfish belief in that idea—something you can set up, and bow down
before, and offer a sacrifice to…
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness (1902)

I live in solitude among the ruins; I will question the ancient monuments
about the wisdom of times passed.
Volney, The Ruins of Palmyra (1791)

The wise man brings everything back to the court of reason, even to reason
itself.
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (1781)

Europe’s interest in the East may be traced to classical antiquity

through writers like Herodotus, Strabo, and Diodorus of Sicily. However,
since the Age of Enlightenment, with the advent of Rationalism, the
East became a space of imaginary representation, totally evoking a
series of negative visions, as observed in the writings of Montesquieu
(1689–1759), Voltaire (1694–1778), and the engineer Nicolas Boulanger

© The Author(s) 2020 13

A. Gasquet, Argentinean Literary Orientalism, Historical and
Cultural Interconnections between Latin America and Asia,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54466-9_2
14 A. GASQUET

(1722–1759): cultural decadence, despotism, religious fanaticism, igno-

rance, etc. (Montesquieu 1997; Voltaire 2007; Boulanger 1988). The
East would ideologically function as a model that should not be imitated,
one from which it was imperative to distance oneself. This perception of
the East, as an area of repulsion, also connoted considerable ambiguity: on
the one hand, it constituted a negative model but, on the other, it was one
that demanded close examination. This ambivalent attraction stimulated
the emergence of the discipline commonly known as Orientalism. Never-
theless, not everything had to be discarded within the Eastern model. The
Middle East was also a sacred place where three monotheistic religions
had arisen and developed, a counterbalance to the negativity associated
with Orientalism. This fact would raise motivation and curiosity in Orien-
talist studies (App 2010). We must bear in mind the difference between
motivation and curiosity concerning religious phenomena given that the
inflection points between the Rationalists, who were moved by curiosity
(Volney, Champollion), and the later School of Romanticism, motivated
by faith and religious belief (Chateaubriand, Lamartine, Victor Hugo).
This dual purpose for visiting the East prevailed throughout the nine-
teenth century. The Rationalists, Ideologues, and philosophers would set
out for the East to either try to know it in its social and political config-
uration or to adopt it by means of scientific exploration. However, the
Romanticists were trying to address the spiritual enigma that drove them
to make the trip. Both groups had a common denominator: a search for
truth. The former wished to discover the truth about natural and social
laws; the latter, to shed light on the mystery of spiritual truth.

Volney and the Ideologues

The Ideologue School, heirs to the French Enlightenment, set out to
replace metaphysical reflection with rigorous studies of ideas. The term
“ideology” was created in 17961 by Destutt de Tracy (1754–1836),
disciple of Condorcet (1743–1794) and Laplace (1749–1827)—they
belonged to the first generation of Ideologues who were considered the

1 In 1801, Antoine-Louis-Claude Destutt de Tracy published the volume, Elements of

Ideology. In 1808, he was elected member of the French Academy of Letters to occupy the
seat previously held by Pierre-Jean-Georges Cabanis. Tracy’s successor would be François
Guizot. This detail is important because Cabanis, Tracy and Guizot were to have an
important intellectual impact on the River Plate region through the Generation of 1837 .
Another random document with
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 Peabody and the rescued prisoners were quickly lost in darkness,
and, taking a small circuit, effected a landing in safety. Many a man’s
life verified his last threat, and Peabody lived to a good old age,
having often related to his friends and neighbors the adventure
which gave to this place the name of “Peabody’s Leap.”

DONA MARIA’S DEFIANCE

[Philip the Second, king of Spain, murdered his own brother, Don
John of Austria. Dona Maria Dolores de Mendoza, betrothed to the
slain man, discovers that her innocent father has taken the blame
upon himself for this atrocious crime in order that his king might not
be branded before the eyes of the world. Thus the beautiful woman
comes before her king with a great purpose: First, to have her father
released from prison; and second, to express her personal hatred for
the murderer of her lover. The king is alone when she enters.]
Philip. Be seated, Dona Dolores. I am glad that you have come,
for I have much to say to you and some questions to ask of you. In
my life I have suffered more than most men in being bereaved of the
persons to whom I have been most sincerely attached. One after
another those that I have loved have been taken from me, until I am
almost alone in the world that is so largely mine. My sorrows have
reached their crown and culmination to-day in the death of my dear
brother. I know why you have come to me; you wish to intercede for
your father. It is right that you come to me yourself.
Dona Dolores. I ask justice, not mercy, sire.
Philip. Your father shall have both, for they are compatible.
Dona Dolores. He needs no mercy, for he has done no wrong.
Your majesty knows that as well as I.
Philip. I cannot guess what you know or do not know.
Dona Dolores. I know the truth.
Philip. I wish I did. Tell me; you may be able to help me sift it. What
do you know?
 Dona Dolores. I was close behind the door. I heard every word. I
heard your sword drawn and I heard Don John fall, and then it was
some time before I heard my father’s voice taking the blame upon
himself lest it should be said that a king had murdered his own
brother in his room unarmed. Is that the truth, or not? I came in and
found him dead. He was unarmed, murdered without a chance for
his life, and my father took the blame to save you from the
monstrous accusation. Confess that what I say is true. I am a
Spanish woman and would not see my country branded before the
world with the shame of your royal murders; and if you will confess
and save my father I will keep your secret for my country’s sake. If
you will not, by the God that made you I will tell all Spain what you
are, and the men who loved Don John of Austria will rise and take
your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and you shall die
as you killed, like the coward you are. You will not? Then—
Philip. No, No! Stay here; you must not go. What do you want me
to say?
Dona Dolores. Say, “You have spoken the truth.”
Philip. Stay—yes—it is true—I did it—for Spain—For God’s mercy
do not betray me.
Dona Dolores. That is not all. That was for me, that I might hear
the words from your own lips.
Philip. What more do you want of me?
Dona Dolores. My father’s freedom and safety. I must have an
order for his instant release. Send for him. Let him come here at
once as a free man.
Philip. That is impossible. He has confessed the deed before the
whole court. He must at least have a trial. You forget to whom you
are speaking.
Dona Dolores. I am not asking anything of your majesty. I am
dictating terms to my lover’s murderer.
Philip. You shall not impose your insolence on me any further. I
shall call help—
 Dona Dolores. Call whom you will, you cannot save yourself. In
ten minutes there will be a revolution in the palace, and to-morrow all
Spain will be on fire to avenge your brother. Spain has not forgotten
Don Carlos yet. You tortured him to death. There are those alive who
saw you give Queen Isabel the draught that killed her—with your
own hand. Are you mad enough to think that no one knows these
things; that your spies who spy on others do not spy on you; that you
alone of all mankind can commit every crime with impunity?
Philip. Take care, girl! Take care!
Dona Dolores. Beware, Don Philip of Austria, King of Spain and
half the world, lest a girl’s voice be heard above yours, and a girl’s
hand loosen the foundations of your throne. Outside this door are
men who guess the truth already; who hate you as they hate Satan;
and who loved your brother as every living being loved him, except
you. One moment more. Order my father to be set free, or I will open
and speak. One moment! You will not? It is too late—you are lost....
If you ring that bell, I will open the door. Bring the order here where I
am safe. I must read it myself before I am satisfied. [Philip writes
order.] I humbly thank your majesty and take my leave.—This scene
is arranged from the novel “In the Palace of the King,” by Marion
Crawford.

THE KING AND THE POET

[François Villon, the poet, fought and severely wounded the
traitorous Grand Constable of France, Thibaut d’Aussigny. King
Louis XI, in a whimsical mood, had the poet elevated to his
opponent’s station instead of having him cast into prison and
sentenced to death. Lady Katherine, hearing that François had
fought with Thibaut d’Aussigny, whom she hates for his many
protestations of love, and knowing that the penalty was death,
pleads for the poet’s life at the feet of him whom she supposes to be
the new Grand Constable, but who after all is none other than her
own true lover.]
(The morning after his visit to the Fircone Tavern, Louis sat in his
rose-garden, pondering upon his strange adventure of the night
before. A favorite astrologer had interpreted his dream to mean that
one in the depths, if exalted, would be of great service to him. He
knew how precarious his position was, how unpopular he was with
the people, how strong were the forces of the Duke of Burgundy,
how little he could depend upon the allegiance of the people of Paris
if once the enemy set foot within the capital city. His encounter with
Villon coming upon the heels of his strange dream, and followed by
the vague prophecies of the star-gazer, made him believe that the
fantastic rhymester was sent to him in a time of peril to be of support
to his throne.
A heavy tread behind him stirred him from his meditations.
Turning, he beheld the companion of his adventure the previous
evening.)
King. Well, Tristan?
Tristan. The bird has flown, sire. Thibaut’s wound was much
slighter than we thought last night. After we carried him to his house,
he made his escape thence in disguise, and has, as I believe, fled
from Paris to join the Duke of Burgundy.
King. I wish the Duke joy of him. He is more dangerous to my
enemy when he is on my enemy’s side. And my rival for loyalty?
Tristan. Barber Oliver has charge of him. I would have hanged the
rogue out of hand.
King. The stars warn me that I need this rhyming ragamuffin.
Tristan. Are you going to let him think he is king, sire?
King. Not quite. When he wakes, he is to be assured that he is the
Count of Montcorbier and Grand Constable of France. His antics
may amuse me, his lucky star may serve me, and his winning tongue
may help to avenge me on a certain forward maid, who disdained
me. Send me here Oliver. [Exit Tristan.]
[Katherine comes slowly down one of the rose-ways.]
King. Where are you going, girl?
Katherine. To her majesty, sire, who bade me gather roses.
 King. You are a pretty child. You might have had a king’s love.
Well, well, you were a fool. Does not Thibaut woo you?
Katherine. He professes to love me, sire, and I profess to hate
him.
King. He was sorely wounded last night in a tavern scuffle.
Katherine. Only wounded, sire?
King. Your solicitude is adorable. Be of cheer. He may recover.
And we have clapped hands on the assassin. He shall pay the
penalty.
Katherine. This man should not die, sire. Thibaut d’Aussigny was a
traitor, a villain—
King. If this knave’s life interests you, plead for it to my lord the
Grand Constable.
Katherine. Thibaut is pitiless.
King. Thibaut is no longer in office. Try your luck with his
successor.
Katherine. His name, sire?
King. He is the Count of Montcorbier. He is a stranger in our court,
but he has found a lodging in my heart. He came under safe conduct
from the south last night. I believe he will serve me well, and I am
sure he will always be lenient to loveliness. Now go, girl, or my wife
and your queen will be wanting her roses. [Exit Katherine.]
[Glancing up the terrace, he perceives the figure of Oliver. Behind
Oliver comes a little cluster of pages, and behind them again the
king can see a shining figure in cloth of gold.]
King. Here comes my mountebank as pompous as if he were born
to the purple. It would be rare sport if Mistress Katherine disdained
Louis to decline upon this beggar. He shall hang for mocking me. But
he carries himself like a king for all his tatters and patches, and he
shall taste of splendor.
[As the little procession descends the steps into the rose-garden the
king moves swiftly to the door of the tower and enters. There is
a little grating in the door, and through this grating the king now
peers with infinite entertainment of the comedy himself had
planned.]
[Master Villon is greatly changed. The barber’s own handiwork has
cleansed and shaved his countenance. He is as sumptuously
attired as if he were a prince of the blood royal. It is plain that
the tricked out poet is in a desperate dilemma. He manages to
bear himself with dignity that consorts with his pomp.]
Oliver. Will your dignity deign to linger awhile in this rose-arbor?
François. My dignity will deign to do anything you suggest.
Oliver. May we take our leave, monseigneur?
François. You may, you may—stay one moment. You know this
plaguy memory of mine—what a forgetful fellow I am. Would you
mind telling me again who I happen to be?
Oliver. You are the Count of Montcorbier, monseigneur. You have
just arrived in Paris from the court of Provence, where you stood in
high favor with the king of that country, but your favor is, I believe,
greater with the king of France, for he has been pleased to make you
Grand Constable of France. It is his majesty’s wish that you contrive
to remember this.
François. Of course, it was most foolish of me to forget. Now, I
suppose, good master long-toes, that a person in my exalted rank
has a good deal of power, influence, authority, and what not?
Oliver. With the king’s favor, you are the first man in the realm.
François. Quite so! Good sir, will you straightway dispatch some
one you can trust with a handful of these broad pieces to the mother
of Villon, a poor old woman sorely plagued with a scapegrace son?
Let him seek her out and give her these coins that she may buy
herself food, clothes and fire.
Oliver. It shall be done. [Exit all but François.]
[As soon as Villon finds himself alone he looks cautiously around him
and tries to recall the events of the evening before, which for
some fantastic reason seems to lie centuries behind him.]
François. Last night I was a red-handed outlaw, sleeping on the
straw of a dungeon. To-day I wake in a royal bed and my varlets call
me Monseigneur. Either I am mad or I am dreaming. I do not think I
am mad, for I know in my heart that I am poor François Villon,
penniless Master of Arts, and no will-o’-the-wisp Grand Constable.
Then I am dreaming, and everything has been and is a dream. Then
the king—popping up at the last moment, like a Jack-in-the-box—a
dream. These clothes, these servants, this garden—dreams,
dreams, dreams. I shall wake presently and be devilish cold, hungry
and shabby.
[He goes to the golden flagon on the table, pours out a full cup of
Burgundy, and watches it glow in the sunlight.]
François. To the loveliest lady this side of heaven! By heaven, my
eyes dazzle, for I believe I see her!
[On the terrace the fair girl leans and looks over at the garden and its
golden occupant.]
Oliver. My lord, there is a lady there who desires to speak with
you.
François. I desire to speak with her.
[Oliver enters the palace, and Katherine approaches Villon.]
Katherine. My lord, will you listen to a distressed lady?
François. She does not know me.
Katherine. There is a man in prison at this hour for whom I would
implore your clemency. His name is François Villon. Last night he
wounded Thibaut d’Aussigny. The penalty is death. But Thibaut was
a traitor, sold to Burgundy.
François. Did this Villon fight him for his treason?
Katherine. No! He fought for the sake of a woman.
 François. How do you know all this?
Katherine. Because I was the woman. This man had seen me,
thought he loved me, sent me verses—.
François. How insolent!
Katherine. It was insolence—and yet they were beautiful verses. I
was in mortal fear of Thibaut. I went to this Villon and begged him to
kill my enemy. He backed his love-tale with his sword—and he lies in
the shadow of death. It is not just that he should suffer for my sin.
François. Do you by any chance love this Villon?
Katherine. Great ladies do not love tavern bravos. But I pity him
and I do not want him to die.
François. If I had stood in this rascal’s shoes, I would have done
as he did for your sake.
Katherine. If you think this, you should grant the poor knave his
freedom.
François. That brother of ballads shall go free. We will do no more
than banish him from Paris. Forget that such a slave ever came near
you.
Katherine. I shall remember your clemency.
François. By Saint Venus, I envy this fellow that he should have
won your thoughts. I, too, would die to serve you!
Katherine. My lord, you do not know me.
François. Did he know you? Yet when he saw you he loved you
and made bold to tell you so.
Katherine. His words were of no more account than the wind in the
leaves. But you and I are peers and the words we change have
meanings.
François. Would you pity me if I told you I love you?
Katherine. Heaven’s mercy, how fast your fancy gallops. I care
little to be flattered and less to be wooed, and I swear that I should
be very hard to win.
 François. I have more to try than your tap-room bandit. I see what
he saw; I love what he loved.
Katherine. You are very inflammable.
François. My fire burns to ashes. You can no more stay me from
loving you than you can stay the flowers from loving the soft air, or
true men from loving honor, or heroes from loving glory. I would rake
the moon from heaven for you.
Katherine. That promise has grown rusty since Adam first made it
to Eve. There is a rhyme in my mind about moons and lovers:

Life is unstable,
Love may uphold;
Fear goes in sable,
Courage in gold.

Mystery covers
Midnight and noon,
Heroes and lovers
Cry for the moon.

François. What doggerel!

Katherine. It is divinity.
François. Tell me what I may do to win your favor?
Katherine. A trifle. Save France! Oh, that a man would come to
court! For the man who shall trail the banners of Burgundy in the
dust for the king of France to walk on I may perhaps have favors.
François. You are hard to please.
Katherine. My hero must have every virtue for his wreath, every
courage for his coronet. Farewell. [Exit Lady Katherine.]
[Enter King Louis.]
King. Good afternoon, Lord Constable. Does power taste well?
François. Nobly, sire! On my knees let me thank your majesty.
 King. Nonsense, man; I’m pleasing myself. You sang yourself into
splendor. “If François were the king of France,” eh?
François. Sire, I will serve you as never king was served.
King. I will make you Grand Constable for a week.
François. A week, sire? A week—
King. Even so. One wonderful week, seven delirious days. The
world was made in seven days. Seven days of power, seven days of
splendor, seven days of love.
François. And then go back to the garret and the kennel, the
tavern and the brothel!
King. No, no, not exactly! You don’t taste the full force of the joke
yet. Your last task as Grand Constable will be to hang François
Villon.
François. Sire, sire, have pity!
King. You may have your week of wonder if you wish, but if you
do, by my word as king, you shall swing for it.
François. Sire, what have I done that you should torture me thus?
King. You have mocked a king and maimed a minister. You can’t
get off scot free.
François. Heaven help me! Life, squalid, sordid, but still life, with
its tavern corners and its brute pleasures of food and drink and warm
sleep, living hands to hold, and living laughter to gladden me—or a
week of cloth of gold, of glory, of love—and then a shameful death!
King. One further chance, fellow. If the Count Montcorbier win the
heart of Lady Katherine within the week, he shall escape the gallows
and carry his lady love where he please.
François. On your word of honor, sire?
King. My word is my honor, Master François. Well?
François. Give me my week of wonders though I die a dog’s death
at the end of it. I will show France and her what lay in the heart of a
poor rhymester.
 King. Spoken like a man! But remember, a bargain’s a bargain. If
you fail to win the lady you must keep yourself for the gallows. I give
you the moon, but I want my price for it.
[Enter Oliver.]
Oliver. Sire, the Burgundian herald attends under a flag of truce
with a message for your majesty.
King. We will receive him here, Oliver. We need air when we hold
speech with Burgundy. [Exit Oliver.]
King. Listen well to this man’s words, my Lord Constable.
[Enter Messenger.]
King. Your message, sir?
Herald. In the name of the Duke of Burgundy and of his allies and
brothers-in-arms assembled outside the walls of Paris, I hereby
summon you, Louis of France, to surrender this city unconditionally
and to yield yourself in confidence to my master’s mercy.
King. And if we refuse, Sir Herald?
Herald. The worst disasters of war, fire and sword and famine, and
no hope for yourself.
King. Great words. The Count of Montcorbier, Constable of
France, is my counselor. His voice delivers my mind. Speak, friend,
and give this messenger his answer.
François. As I will, sire?
King. Yes, go on, go on. “If Villon were the king of France.”
François. Herald of Burgundy, in God’s name and the king’s, I bid
you go back to your master and say this: “Kings are great in the eyes
of their people, but the people are great in the eyes of God. The
people of Paris are not so poor of spirit that they fear the croak of the
Burgundian ravens. When we who eat are hungry, when we who
drink are dry, when we who glow are frozen, when there is neither
bite on the board nor sup in the pitcher nor spark upon the hearth,
our answer to rebellious Burgundy will be the same. You are
knocking at our doors, beware lest we open them. We give you back
defiance for defiance, menace for menace, blow for blow. This is our
answer—this and the drawn sword.”
[Enter Katherine while he is speaking.]
Katherine. My Lord, with my lips the women of France thank you
for your words of flame.
King. Mistress, what does this mean?
Katherine. It means, sire, that a man has come to court.—This
scene is arranged from Justin Huntly McCarthy’s novel, “If I Were
King.”

THE BISHOP AND THE CONVICT

By Victor Hugo
That evening, after his walk in the town, the Bishop of D—
remained quite late in his room. At eight o’clock he was still at work,
writing with some inconvenience on little slips of paper, with a large
book open on his knees, when Mme. Magloire, as usual, came in to
take the silver from the panel by the bed. A moment after, the
bishop, knowing that the table was laid, and that his sister was
perhaps waiting, closed his book and went into the dining-room.
Just as the bishop entered Mme. Magloire was speaking with
some warmth. It was a discussion on the means of fastening the
front door.
It seems that while Mme. Magloire was out making provisions for
supper she had heard the news in sundry places. There was talk that
an ill-favored runaway, a suspicious vagabond, had arrived and was
lurking somewhere near the town, and that it was the part of wise
people to secure their doors thoroughly.
“Brother, do you hear what Mme. Magloire says?”
“I heard something of it indistinctly,” said the bishop. Then, turning
his chair half round, putting his hands on his knees, and raising
toward the old servant his cordial and good-humored face, which the
firelight shone upon, he said: “Well, well, what is the matter! Are we
in any great danger?”
Then Mme. Magloire began her story again, unconsciously
exaggerating it a little. It appeared that a barefooted gypsy man, a
sort of dangerous beggar, was in the town. A man with a knapsack
and a rope and a terrible-looking face.
“Indeed!” said the bishop.
“We say that this house is not safe at all; and, if monseigneur will
permit me, I will go out and tell Paulin Musebois, the locksmith, to
come and put the old bolts in the door again; they are there, and it
will take but a minute. I say we must have bolts, were it only for to-
night; for I say that a door that opens with a latch on the outside to
the first comer, nothing could be more horrible; and then
monseigneur has the habit of always saying: ‘Come in’ even at
midnight. But, my goodness, there is no need to even ask leave—”
The door opened.
It opened quickly, quite wide, as if pushed by some one boldly and
with energy.
A man entered.
He came in, took one step, and paused, leaving the door open
behind him. He had his knapsack on his back, his stick in his hand,
and a rough, hard, tired, and fierce look in his eyes, as seen by the
firelight. He was hideous. It was an apparition of ill omen.
Mme. Magloire had not even the strength to scream. She stood,
trembling, with her mouth open.
Mdlle. Baptistine turned, saw the man enter, and started out half
alarmed; then, slowly turning back again toward the fire, she looked
at her brother, and her face resumed its usual calmness and
serenity.
“See here! My name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict; I have been
nineteen years in the galleys. Four days ago I was set free, and
started for Pontarlier, which is my destination; during these four days
I have walked from Toulon. To-day I have walked twelve leagues.
When I reached this place this evening I went to an inn, and they
sent me away on account of my yellow passport, which I had shown
at the mayor’s office, as was necessary. I went to another inn; they
said: ‘Get out!’ It was the same with one as with another; no one
would have me. I went to the prison and the turnkey would not let me
in. I crept into a dog-kennel, the dog bit me, and drove me away as if
he had been a man; you would have said that he knew who I was. I
went into the fields to sleep beneath the stars; there were no stars. I
thought it would rain, and there was no good God to stop the drops,
so I came back to the town to get the shelter of some doorway.
There in the square I lay down upon a stone; a good woman showed
me your house, and said: ‘Knock there!’ I have knocked. What is this
place? Are you an inn? I have money; my savings, one hundred and
nine francs and fifteen sous, which I have earned in the galleys by
my work for nineteen years. I will pay. What do I care? I have money.
I am very tired—twelve leagues on foot—and I am so hungry. Can I
stay?”
“Mme. Magloire,” said the bishop, “put on another plate.”
The man took three steps and came near the lamp which stood on
the table. “Stop,” he exclaimed, as if he had not been understood,
“not that, did you understand me? I am a galley slave—a convict—I
am just from the galleys.” He drew from his pocket a large sheet of
yellow paper, which he unfolded. “There is my passport, yellow, as
you see. That is enough to have me kicked out wherever I go. Will
you read it? I know how to read, I do. I learned in the galleys. There
is a school there for those who care for it. See, see, here is what
they have put in my passport: ‘Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, has
been nineteen years in the galleys; five years for burglary; fourteen
years for having attempted four times to escape. This man is very
dangerous.’ There you have it! Everybody has thrust me out; will you
receive me? Is this an inn? Can you give me something to eat and a
place to sleep? Have you a stable?”
“Mme. Magloire,” said the bishop, “put some sheets on the bed in
the alcove.”
Mme. Magloire went out to fulfill her orders.
 “Monsieur, sit down and warm yourself; we are going to take
supper presently, and your bed will be made ready while you sup.”
“True? What? You will keep me? You won’t drive me away—a
convict? You call me monsieur and don’t say, ‘Get out, dog!’ as every
one else does. I thought that you would send me away, so I told first
off who I am. I shall have a supper? A bed like other people? With
mattress and sheets—a bed? It is nineteen years that I have not
slept on a bed. M. Innkeeper, what is your name? I will pay all you
say. You are an innkeeper, ain’t you?”
“I am a priest who lives here.”
“A priest, oh, noble priest! Then you do not ask any money?”
“No, keep your money. How much have you?”
“One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous.”
“And how long did it take you to earn that?”
“Nineteen years.”
Mme. Magloire brought in a plate and set it on the table.
“Mme. Magloire, put this plate as near the fire as you can. The
night wind is raw in the Alps; you must be cold, monsieur.”
Every time he said the word monsieur with his gently solemn and
heartily hospitable voice the man’s countenance lighted up.
Monsieur to a convict is a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at
sea.
“The lamp gives a very poor light.”
Mme. Magloire understood him, and going to his bed-chamber,
took from the mantel the two silver candlesticks, lighted the candles
and placed them on the table.
“M. l’Curé, you are good; you don’t despise me. You take me into
your house; you light your candles for me, and I haven’t hid from you
where I came from, and how miserable I am.”
“You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house; it is the
house of Christ. It does not ask any comer whether he has a name,
but whether he has an affliction. You are suffering; you are hungry
and thirsty; be welcome. And do not thank me; do not tell me that I
take you into my house. This is the home of no man except him who
needs an asylum. I tell you, who are a traveler, that you are more at
home here than I; whatever is here is yours. What need have I to
know your name? Besides, before you told me, I knew it.”
“Really? You knew my name?”
“Yes, your name is my brother. You have seen much suffering.”
“Oh, the red blouse, the ball and chain, the plank to sleep on, the
heat, the cold, the galley’s screw, the lash, the double chain for
nothing, the dungeon for a word—even when sick in bed, the chain.
The dogs, the dogs are happier! nineteen years! and I am forty-six,
and now a yellow passport. That is all.”
“Yes, you have left a place of suffering. But listen, there will be
more joy in heaven over the tears of a repentant sinner than over the
white robes of a hundred good men. If you are leaving that sorrowful
place with hate and anger against men, you are worthy of
compassion; if you leave it with good will, gentleness and peace, you
are better than any of us.”
Meantime Mme. Magloire had served up supper. The bishop said
the blessing and then served. The man paid no attention to any one.
He ate with the voracity of a starving man.
After having said goodnight to his sister, the bishop took one of the
silver candlesticks from the table, handed the other to his guest, and
said to him: “Monsieur, I will show you to your room.”
The man followed him.
The house was so arranged that one could reach the alcove in the
oratory only by passing through the bishop’s sleeping-chamber. Just
as they were passing through this room Mme. Magloire was putting
up the silver in the cupboard at the head of the bed. It was the last
thing she did every night before going to bed.
The bishop left his guest wishing him a good night’s rest.
 As the cathedral clock struck two, Jean Valjean awoke. He opened
his eyes and looked for a moment into the obscurity about him, then
he closed them to go to sleep again. But he could not get to sleep
again, so he began to think. He remembered noticing the six silver
plates and the large ladle that Mme. Magloire had put on the table.
Those six silver plates took possession of him. There they were
within a few steps. At the very moment that he passed through the
middle room to reach the one he was now in, the old servant was
placing them in a little cupboard at the head of the bed. He had
marked that cupboard well; on the right coming from the dining-
room. They were solid and old silver. With the big ladle they would
bring at least two hundred francs; double what he had got for
nineteen years’ labor.
His mind wavered a whole hour and a long one, in fluctuation and
in struggle. The clock struck three. He opened his eyes, rose up
hastily in bed, reached out his arm and felt his knapsack, which he
had put into the corner of the alcove, then he thrust out his legs and
put his feet on the floor and found himself, he knew not how, seated
on his bed. All at once he stooped down, took off his shoes and put
them softly upon the mat in front of the bed, then he resumed his
thinking posture and was still again. Then he rose to his feet,
hesitated for a moment longer and listened; all was still in the house;
he walked straight and cautiously toward the window which he could
discern. The night was very dark, there was a full moon. On reaching
the window, Jean Valjean examined it. It had no bars, opened into
the garden, and was fastened with only a little wedge. He took his
club in his right hand, and, holding his breath, with stealthy steps he
moved toward the door of the next room, which was the bishop’s, as
we know. On reaching the door he found it unlatched. The bishop
had not closed it.
Jean Valjean listened. Not a sound.
He pushed the door. A rusty hinge suddenly sent out into the
darkness a harsh and prolonged creak.
Jean Valjean shivered. He took one step and was in the room. At
the moment when he passed the bed, a cloud broke, as if purposely,
and a ray of moonlight crossing the high window, suddenly lighted up
the bishop’s pale face. He slept tranquilly. His entire countenance
was lit up with a vague expression of content, hope and happiness. It
was more than a smile and almost a radiance.
Jean Valjean was in the shadow with the iron drill in his hand,
erect, motionless, terrified at this radiant figure. He had never seen
anything comparable to it. This confidence filled him with fear. He did
not remove his eyes from the old man. He appeared ready either to
cleave his skull or to kiss his hand.
In a few moments he raised his left hand slowly to his forehead
and took off his hat; then letting his hand fall with the same
slowness, Jean Valjean resumed his contemplations, his cap in his
left hand, his club in his right, and his hair bristling on his fierce-
looking head.
Under this frightful gaze the bishop still slept in profoundest peace.
The crucifix above the mantel-piece was dimly visible in the
moonlight, apparently extending its arms toward both, with a
benediction for one and a pardon for the other.
Suddenly Jean Valjean put on his cap, then passed quickly,
without looking at the bishop, along the bed, straight to the cupboard
which he perceived near its head; he raised the drill to force the lock;
the key was in it; he opened it; the first thing he saw was the basket
of silver; he took it, crossed the room with hasty stride, careless of
noise, reached the door, entered the oratory, took his stick, stepped
out, put the silver in his knapsack, threw away the basket, ran across
the garden, leaped over the wall like a tiger and fled.
The next day at sunrise the bishop was walking in the garden.
Mme. Magloire ran toward him quite beside herself.
“Monseigneur, the man has gone! The silver is stolen. The
abominable fellow! He has stolen our silver!”
The bishop was silent for a moment then, raising his serious eyes,
he said mildly to Mme. Magloire: “Now, first, did this silver belong to
us? Mme. Magloire, I have for a long time withheld this silver; it
belonged to the poor. Who was this man? A poor man evidently.”
 “Alas! Alas!” returned Mme. Magloire. “It is not on my account or
mademoiselle’s; it is all the same to us. But it is on yours,
monseigneur. What is monsieur going to eat from now?”
The bishop looked at her in amazement.
“How so! have we no tin plates?”
Just as the brother and sister were rising from their breakfast there
was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said the bishop.
The door opened. A strange, fierce group appeared on the
threshold. Three men were holding a fourth by the collar. The three
men were gendarmes; the fourth, Jean Valjean.
In the meantime the bishop had approached as quickly as his
great age permitted. “Ah, there you are!” said he, looking toward
Jean Valjean. “I am glad to see you. But I gave you the candlesticks
also, which are silver like the rest, and would bring two hundred
francs. Why did you not take them along with your plates?”
Jean Valjean opened his eyes and looked at the bishop with an
expression no human tongue could describe.
“Monseigneur,” said the brigadier, “then what this man said was
true? We met him. He was going like a man who was running away
and we arrested him in order to see. He had this silver.”
“And he told you that it had been given him by a good old priest
with whom he had passed the night. I see it all. And you brought him
back here? It is all a mistake.”
“If that is so,” said the brigadier, “we can let him go.”
“Certainly,” replied the bishop, “you may retire.”
The gendarmes released Jean Valjean, who shrank back.
“My friend, before you go away here are the candlesticks; take
them.”
Jean Valjean was trembling in every limb. He took the two
candlesticks mechanically and with a wild appearance.
 “Now go in peace. By the way, my friend, when you come again
you need not come through the garden. You can always come in and
go out by the front door. It is closed only with a latch, day or night.
Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver
to become an honest man.
“Jean Valjean, my brother, you belong no longer to evil, but to
good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark
thoughts and from the spirit of perdition and I give it to God!”—
Arranged from “Les Miserables.”

A DESERT TRAGEDY
By Frank Norris
One day, a fortnight after McTeague’s flight from San Francisco,
Marcus rode into Modoc, to find a group of men gathered about a
notice affixed to the outside of the Wells-Fargo office. It was an offer
of reward for the arrest and apprehension of a murderer. The crime
had been committed in San Francisco, but the man wanted had
been traced as far as the western portion of Inyo County, and was
believed at that time to be in hiding in either the Pinto or Panamint
hills in the vicinity of Keeler.
Marcus reached Keeler on the afternoon of that same day. Half a
mile from the town his pony fell and died from exhaustion. Marcus
did not stop even to remove the saddle. He arrived in the barroom of
the hotel in Keeler just after the posse had been made up. The
sheriff, who had come down from Independence that morning, at first
refused his offer of assistance. He had enough men already—too
many, in fact. The country traveled through would be hard, and it
would be difficult to find water for so many men and horses.
“But none of you fellers have ever seen um,” vociferated Marcus,
quivering with excitement and wrath. “I know um well. I could pick
um out in a million. I can identify um, and you fellers can’t. And I
knew—I knew—good God! I knew that girl—his wife—in Frisco.
She’s a cousin of mine, she is—she was—I thought once of—. This
thing’s a personal matter of mine—an’ that money he got away with,