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What is this annoyance put upon the French officers?" I state my case politely to this personage, who can not make apologies and promises enough. The little agents prostrate themselves on all fours, sink into the earth; and we leave them, cold and dignified, without returning their bows. M. Sucre and Madame Prune may now make their minds easy; they will not be disturbed again. August 23d.
The better to control the situation, the former went up to La Paz and the latter to Chuquisaca, the capital, where a Congress was to assemble for the purpose of imparting a more orderly turn to affairs. Under the direction of the "Marshal of Ayacucho," as Sucre was now called, the Congress issued on the 6th of August a formal declaration of independence.
He wished to unite Guayaquil and Peru, in which plan he was opposed by Bolivar. Guayaquil had declared itself independent of Spain in October, 1820. We have seen that Sucre was sent there by Bolivar because that section had not been included in the armistice agreed to with Morillo in Santa Ana.
I could not distinguish his words, but I judged he was selling the "elixir of love," from his absurd amatory gestures an elixir compounded, no doubt, of a little harmless eau sucre.
I write, seated on a mat on the floor and leaning upon a little Japanese desk, ornamented with swallows in relief; my ink is Chinese, my inkstand, just like that of my landlord, is in jade, with dear little frogs and toads carved on the rim. In short, I am writing my memoirs, exactly as M. Sucre does downstairs! Occasionally I fancy I resemble him a very disagreeable fancy.
The body of Sucre has been found at last in Quito, and it is expected that very soon it will occupy its place near Bolivar, Sucre's leader and friend. That news was perhaps the last blow to Bolivar. The day he received it he was attacked with a severe cold, which he neglected and which developed into his fatal illness, an illness which had been long latent in his frail body.
We thought that when the Spaniards had been driven out we should have had peace, but it is not so; we have had San Martin, and Bolivar, and Aguero, and Santa Cruz, and Sucre. Bolivar again finally defeated the Spaniards at Ayacucho. Rodil held possession of Callao castle, and defended it until January of this year.
Pocket-handkerchiefs spread upon benches do duty as table-cloths. Clasp-knives, galette, and sucre d'orge pass from hand to hand nay, from mouth to mouth and, in the midst of the tumult, the curtain rises. All is, in one moment, profoundly silent. The viands disappear; the lemonade-seller vanishes; the boys outside the gallery-rails clamber back to their places.
In the street called the Canal au Sucre, immediately behind the Town-house, there was a fierce struggle, a horrible massacre. A crowd of burghers; grave magistrates, and such of the German soldiers as remained alive, still confronted the ferocious Spaniards. There amid the flaming desolation, Goswyn Verreyck, the heroic margrave of the city, fought with the energy of hatred and despair.
M. Sucre and Madame Prune, my landlord and his wife, two perfectly unique personages recently escaped from the panel of some screen, live below us on the ground floor; and very old they seem to have this daughter of fifteen, Oyouki, who is Chrysantheme's inseparable friend.
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