A Matter Of Mean Elevation

O Henry

ONE winter the Alcazar Opera Company of New Orleans made a speculative trip along

the Mexican, Central American and South American coasts. The venture proved a most

successful one. The music- loving, impressionable Spanish-Americans deluged the

company with dollars and "vivas." The manager waxed plump and amiable. But for the

prohibitive climate he would have put forth the distinctive flower of his prosperity -- the

overcoat of fur, braided, frogged and opulent. Almost was he persuaded to raise the

salaries of his company. But with a mighty effort he conquered the impulse toward such

an unprofitable effervescence of joy.

Alcazar Opera Com- pany aroused the utmost ardour and zeal among the pleasure

seekers.

The illustrious Guzman Blanco, President and Dic- tator of Venezuela, sojourned in

Macuto with his court for the season. That potent ruler -- who himself paid a subsidy of

40,000 pesos each year to grand opera in Caracas -- ordered one of the Government

warehouses to be cleared for a temporary theatre. A stage was quickly constructed and

rough wooden benches made for the audience. Private boxes were added for the use of

the President and the notables of the army and Government.

The company remained in Macuto for two weeks. Each performance filled the house as

closely as it could be packed. Then the music-mad people fought for room in the open

Miranda to trade their gold dust in the coast towns.

The spell cast upon these denizens of the interior fastnesses was remarkable. They sat in

petrified ecstasy, conspicuous among the excitable Macutians, who wildly strove with

tongue and hand to give evidence of their delight. Only once did the sombre rapture of

these aboriginals find expression. During the rendition of "Faust," Guzman Blanco,

extravagantly pleased by the "Jewel Song," cast upon the stage a purse of gold pieces.

Other distinguished citizens followed his lead to the extent of whatever loose coin they

had convenient, while some of the fair and fashionable señoras were moved, in imita-

tion, to fling a jewel or a ring or two at the feet of the Marguerite -- who was, according

to the bills, Mlle. Nina Giraud. Then, from different parts of the house rose sundry of

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upon the stage in the red and black of the ardent Carmen, Mlle. Nina Giraud dis-

appeared from the sight and ken of 6,000 pairs of eyes and as many minds in Macuto.

There was the usual turmoil and hurrying to seek her. Messengers flew to the little

French-kept hotel where she stayed; others of the company hastened here or there where

she might be lingering in some tienda or unduly prolonging her bath upon the beach. All

search was fruitless. Mademoi- selle had vanished.

Half an hour passed and she did not appear. The dictator, unused to the caprices of

prime donne, became impatient. He sent an aide from his box to say to the manager that

if the curtain did not at once rise he would immediately hale the entire company to the

calabosa, though it would desolate his heart, indeed, to be com- pelled to such an act.

to Mlle. Giraud's disappearance was found. The Alcazar left to fill engagements farther

down the coast.

On the way back the steamer stopped at Macuto and the manager made anxious inquiry.

Not a trace of the lady had been discovered. The Alcazar could do no more. The

personal belongings of the missing lady were stored in the hotel against her possible

later reappearance and the opera company continued upon its homeward voyage to New

Orleans.

On the camino real along the beach the two saddle mules and the four pack mules of

Don Señor Johnny Armstrong stood, patiently awaiting the crack of the whip of the

arriero, Luis. That would be the signal for the start on another long journey into the

the rich native merchant who had just charged him four prices for half a gross of pot-

metal hatchets, and abridged English with Rucker, the little German who was Consul for

the United States.

"Take with you, señor," said Peralto, "the blessings of the saints upon your journey."

"Better try quinine," growled Rucker through his pipe. "Take two grains every night.

wiedersehen, und keep your eyes dot mule's ears between when you on der edge of der

Armstrong, waved a good- bye and took his place at the tail of the procession. Up the

Dawson and Rich- ards and the rest of the chaps were dawdling on the broad piazza,

reading week-old newspapers. They crowded to the railing and shouted many friendly

and wise and foolish farewells after him. Across the plaza they trotted slowly past the

bronze statue of Guzman Blanco, within its fence of bayoneted rifles captured from

revolutionists, and out of the town between the rows of thatched huts swarming with the

unclothed youth of Macuto. They plunged into the damp coolness of banana groves at

length to emerge upon a bright stream, where brown women in scant raiment laundered

clothes destructively upon the rocks. Then the pack train, fording the stream, attacked

the sudden ascent, and bade adieu to such civilization as the coast afforded.

For weeks Armstrong, guided by Luis, followed his regular route among the mountains.

$5,000, the heads of the lightened mules were turned down-trail again. Where the head

"Half a day's journey from here, Señor," said he, "is the village of Tacuzama, which we

Armstrong concurred, and they turned again upward toward Tacuzama. The trail was

gloomy, Luis once more halted. Before them was a black chasm, bisecting the path as

far as they could see.

Luis dismounted. "There should be a bridge," he called, and ran along the cleft a

distance. "It is here," he cried, and remounting, led the way. In a few moments

dark. It was the falling of the mules' hoofs upon the bridge made of strong hides lashed

to poles and stretched across the chasm. Half a mile further was Tacuzama. The village

was a congre- gation of rock and mud huts set in the profundity of an obscure wood. As

beauty, clothed in a splendid loose robe of leopard skins. The hut was packed close to

the small space in which she stood with the squatting figures of Indians.

for the unpolluted air that entered it. When she had ceased several of the audience rose

kind of applause and comment -- went through the grim assembly.

he called to the woman in a low but distinct voice: "Do not turn your head this way, but

The woman was worthy of his boldness. Only by a sudden flush of her pale cheek did

"I am held a prisoner by these Indians. God knows I need help. In two hours come to the

little hut twenty yards toward the Mountainside. There will be a light and a red curtain

in the window. There is always a guard at the door, whom you will have to overcome.

For the love of heaven, do not fail to come."

The story seems to shrink from adventure and rescue and mystery. The theme is one too

gentle for those brave and quickening tones. And yet it reaches as far back as time itself.

It has been named "environment," which is as weak a word as any to express the

unnameable kinship of man to nature, that queer fraternity that causes stones and trees

and salt water and clouds to play upon our emotions. Why are we made serious and

overhanging trees, reduced to inconstancy and monkey capers by the ripples on a sandy

Briefly, then, in order to confine the story within scientific bounds, John Armstrong,

forced engage- ment in Tacuzama. The Carabobo Indians are easily the most

enthusiastic lovers of music between the equator and the French Opera House in New

said: "The thing thou wantest, 0 discon- tented man -- take it, and pay the price." A

number of them had attended the performance of the Alcazar Opera Company in

Macuto, and found Mlle. Giraud's style and technique satisfactory. They wanted her, so

they took her one evening suddenly and without any fuss. They treated her with much

consideration, exacting only one song recital each day. She was quite pleased at being

theory of the proto- plasm.

John Armstrong and Mlle. Giraud rode among the Andean peaks, enveloped in their

To Armstrong the woman seemed almost a holy thing. Yet bathed in the white, still

dignity of her martyrdom that purified her earthly beauty and gave out, it seemed, an

aura of transcendent loveliness, in those first hours of companionship she drew from

leopard skins, for mountain air was cold. She looked to be some splendid princess

clad turrets, looking a sublime melancholy equal to their own. At times on the journey

looked upon her as an angel. He could not bring himself to the sacrilege of attempting to

On the third day they had descended as far as the tierra templada, the zona of the table

lands and foot hills. The mountains were receding in their rear, but still towered,

exhibiting yet impressively their formidable heads. Here they met signs of man. They

saw the white houses of coffee plantations gleam across the clear- ings. They struck into

a road where they met travellers and pack-mules. Cattle were grazing on the slopes.

They passed a little village where the round-eyed niños shrieked and called at sight of

them.

Mlle. Giraud laid aside her leopard-skin robe. It seemed to be a trifle incongruous now.

In the moun- tains it had appeared fitting and natural. And if Arm- strong was not

country became more populous and significant of comfortable life he saw, with a feeling

disclosed with the solicitous touch of one who is conscious of the eyes of others. She

This thaw in his divinity sent Armstrong's heart going faster. So might an Arctic

lower plane of earth and life and were succumbing to its peculiar, subtle influence. The

austerity of the hills no longer thinned the air they breathed. About them was the breath

of fruit and corn and builded homes, the comfortable smell of smoke and warm earth

and the consolations man has placed between himself and the dust of his brother earth

from which he sprung. While traversing those awful mountains, Mile. Giraud had

now palpitating, warm, eager, throbbing with conscious life and charm, feminine to her

finger-tips? Pondering over this, Armstrong felt certain misgivings intrude upon his

thoughts. He wished he could stop there with this changing creature, descending no

"Oh! look, Mr. Armstrong, there is the sea! Isn't it lovely? I'm so tired of mountains."

She heaved a pretty shoulder in a gesture of repugnance. "Those horrid Indians! Just

think of what I suffered! Although I suppose I attained my ambition of becoming a

bring me away. Tell me, Mr. Armstrong -- honestly, now -- do I look such an awful,

could not see. She allowed it to remain there, and her eyes smiled frankly into his.

and saw the line of volatile bathers frolick- ing in the surf. The mountains were very far

Mlle. Giraud's eyes were shining with a joy that could not have existed under the

chaperonage of the mountain- tops. There were other spirits calling to her -- nymphs of

the orange groves, pixies from the chattering surf, imps, born of the music, the

perfumes, colours and the insinuating presence of humanity. She laughed aloud,

musically, at a sudden thought.

"Won't there be a sensation?" she called to Armstrong. "Don't I wish I had an

engagement just now, though! What a picnic the press agent would have! 'Held a

prisoner by a band of savage Indians subdued by the spell of her wonderful voice' --

wouldn't that make great stuff? But I guess I quit the game winner, anyhow -- there

don't you think?"

little combined reception room and cafe.

about the room. Sefior Villablanca, the wealthy rubber concessionist, reposed his fat

figure on two chairs, with an emollient smile beaming upon his chocolate-coloured face.

Colonel Mendez, of the regular army, in gold-laced uniform and fatuous grin, was busily

extracting corks from champagne bottles. Other pat- terns of Macutian gallantry and

fashion pranced and posed. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. Wine dripped upon

the floor.

Mlle. Giraud. A chic costume of white lawn and cherry ribbons supplanted her

travelling garb. There was a suggestion of lace, and a frill or two, with a discreet, small

implication of hand- embroidered pink hosiery. Upon her lap rested a guitar. In her face

The singer caught sight of Armstrong.

"Hi! there, Johnny," she called; "I've been expecting you for an hour. What kept you?

along in, and I'll make this coffee- coloured old sport with the gold epaulettes open one

He walked out and down the street, and met Rucker coming up from the Consulate.

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