Twenty Spanish
battalions were attempted with the same result in different parts of
Paris. Each enthusiast wished to be commander of the others, with the
individual haughtiness and aversion to discipline so characteristic of
the race. Finally the future generalissimos, decided to enlist as simple
volunteers . . . but in a French regiment.
"I am waiting to see what the Garibaldis do," said Argensola modestly.
"Perhaps I may go with them."
This glorious name made military service conceivable to him. But then
he vacillated; he would certainly have to obey somebody in this body of
volunteers, and he did not believe in an obedience that was not preceded
by long discussions. . . . What next!
"Life has changed in a fortnight," he continued. "It seems as if we were
living in another planet; our former achievements are not appreciated.
Others, most obscure and poor, those who formerly had the least
consideration, are now promoted to the first ranks. The refined man of
complex spirituality has disappeared for who knows how many years!
. . . Now the simple-minded man climbs triumphantly to the top, because,
though his ideas are limited, they are sure and he knows how to obey. We
are no longer the style."
Desnoyers assented. It was so; they were no longer fashionable. None
knew that better than he, for he who was once the sensation of the day,
was now passing as a stranger among the very people who a few months
before had raved over him.
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