"They are in reserve for the finish," said another, with, the solemnity of a pious scamp. Returning from San Sebastian, I happened on a family from Madrid in the same car. The father was weak, jaundiced and sour-visaged; the mother was a fat brunette, with black eyes, who was loaded down with jewels, while her face was made up until it was brilliant white, in colour like a stearin candle. A rather good looking daughter of between fifteen and twenty was escorted by a lieutenant who apparently was engaged to her. Finally, there was another girl, between twelve and fourteen, flaccid and lively as a still-life on a dinner table. Suddenly the father, who was reading a newspaper, exclaimed: "Nothing is going to be done, I can see that; they are already applying to have the revolutionists pardoned. The Government will do nothing." "I wish they would kill every one of them," broke in the girl who was engaged to the lieutenant. "Think of it! Firing on soldiers! They are bandits." "Yes, and with such a king as we have!" exclaimed the fat lady, with the paraffine hue, in a mournful tone. "It has ruined our summer. I wish they would shoot every one of them." "And they are not the only ones," interrupted the father. "The men who are behind them, the writers and leaders, hide themselves, and then they throw the first stones." Upon entering the house, I found that the final proofs of my book had just arrived from the printer, and sat down to read them. The words of that family from Madrid still rang in my ears: "I wish they would kill every one of them!" However one may feel, I thought to myself, it is impossible not to hate such people. Such people are natural enemies. It is inevitable. Now, reading over the proofs of my book, it seems to me that it is not strident enough. I could wish it were more violent, more anti-middle class. I no longer hear the voice of prudence seducing me, as it did a few days since, to a palinode in complicity with a romantic morning of white mist. The zest of combat, of adventure stirs in me again. The sheltered harbour seems a poor refuge in my eyes,--tranquillity and security appear contemptible. "Here, boy, up, and throw out the sail! Run the red flag of revolution to the masthead of our frail craft, and forth to sea!" Itzea, September, 1917. APPENDICES SPANISH POLITICIANS ON BAROJA'S ANARCHISTS NOTE SPANISH POLITICIANS The Spanish alternating party system has prevailed as a national institution since the restoration of the monarchy under Alfonso XII. Ostensibly it is based upon manhood suffrage, and in the cities this is the fact, but in the more remote districts the balloting plays but small part in the returns. Upon the dissolution of the Cortes and the resignation of a ministry, one of the two great parties--the liberal party and the conservative party--automatically retires from power, and the other succeeds it, always carrying the ensuing elections by convenient working majorities.