The War Of The End Of The World - Mario Vargas Llosa [109]
“I can see that the situation is such that it wouldn’t be apropos to inform you whether or not the carnival in Nice is the equal of ours,” he said, very seriously, his gaze seeking Luiz Viana’s. “Let’s begin with the worst that’s happened. What is it?”
“A telegram that arrived at the same time you did,” the governor murmured from an armchair he appeared to be buried in. “Rio has decided to intervene militarily in Bahia, after a unanimous vote in Congress. A regiment of the Federal Army has been sent to attack Canudos.”
“In other words, the federal government and the Congress are officially accepting the view that a conspiracy is afoot,” Adalberto de Gumúcio interrupted him. “In other words, the Sebastianist fanatics are seeking to restore the Empire, with the aid of the Count of Eu, the monarchists, England, and, naturally, the Bahia Autonomist Party. All the humbug churned out by the Jacobin breed suddenly turned into the official truth of the Republic.”
The baron showed no sign of alarm. “Intervention by the Federal Army comes as no surprise to me,” he said. “At this juncture it was inevitable. What does surprise me is this business of Canudos. Two expeditions roundly defeated!” He gestured in amazement, his eyes seeking Viana’s. “I don’t understand, Luiz. Those madmen should have been either left in peace or wiped out the first time round. I can’t fathom why the government botched so badly, let those people become a national problem, freely handed our enemies a gift like that…”
“Five hundred troops, two cannons, two machine guns—does that strike you as a paltry force to send against a band of scalawags and religious fanatics?” Luiz Viana answered heatedly. “Who could have imagined that with strength like that Febrônio de Brito could be hacked to pieces by a few poor devils?”
“It’s true that a conspiracy exists, but it’s not our doing,” Adalberto de Gumúcio interrupted him once more, with a worried frown and nervously clenched hands, and the thought crossed the baron’s mind that he had never seen him this deeply upset by a political crisis. “Major Febrônio is not as inept as he would have us believe. His defeat was a deliberate one, bargained for and decided in advance with the Jacobins in Rio de Janeiro, with Epaminondas Gonçalves as intermediary. So as to bring about the national scandal that they’ve been looking for ever since Floriano Peixoto left power. Haven’t they been continually inventing monarchist conspiracies since then so that the army will adjourn the Congress and set up a Dictatorial Republic?”
“Save your conjectures for later, Adalberto,” the baron interjected. “First I want to know exactly what’s been happening: the facts.”
“There aren’t any facts, only wild imaginings and the most incredible intrigues,” Deputy Rocha Seabra broke in. “They’re accusing us of stirring up the Sebastianists, of sending them arms, of plotting with England to restore the Empire.”
“The Jornal de Notícias has been accusing us of that and even worse things ever since the fall of Dom Pedro II,” the baron said with a smile, accompanied by a scornful wave of his hand.
“The difference is that now it’s not only the Jornal de Notícias but half of Brazil,” Luiz Viana put in. The baron saw him squirm nervously in his chair and wipe his bald head with his hand. “All of a sudden, in Rio, in São Paulo, in Belo Horizonte, all over the country, people are beginning to mouth the egregious nonsense and the calumnies