Hemingway's
Pilar:
The Complex
Woman as Historian and Conscience / Wise Woman, Lover, and Romantic / and
Bearer of the Duende
by David
Cope
In Cassandra's
Daughters: The Women in Hemingway (1984),
Roger Whitlow discusses a variety of female types prominent in Hemingway's
work, yet Pilar, the bold female leader who has taken
control of Pablo's band of partizans in For Whom the Bell Tolls—a woman as
complex as any of Hemingway's male heroes and far more interesting as a strong
woman than any other character in his work—is given merely a few sentences
which note the masculine quality critics have seen in her and the fact that she
serves a "therapeutic" function for Maria. While Pilar
is admired by some—Wirt Williams, for example, sees her as "established
with deliberation as point-of-view authority and narrator" of the
"set piece" detailing the massacre of the fascists in Pablo's home
town (148)—she is dismissed as "the old gypsy whore from Andalusia"
by Arturo Barea (205), and a host of critics (Meyers,
Bessie, Waldmier, Sanderson, Scholes
and Comley) have been more intent on finding
parallels between her character and Gertrude Stein, Grace Hemingway, or even La
Pasionaria, than on confronting Pilar
in all her complexity.
Comley and Scholes,
for example, come dangerously close to the kind of biographical reductionism
that identifies characters not in terms of their intrinsic qualities and
complexities, but as a stand-in for some person in the author's non-fictional
life: in such a view, Pilar is merely a "strong woman constructed by
blending the maternal or nurturing type with that of the manly lesbian on the
model of Gertrude Stein" (46). Comley and Scholes cite a passage
in which Robert Jordan makes a jest out of the smell of onions by parodying
Stein's most famous line—"a rose is a rose is an onion . . . a stone is a
stein is a rock is a boulder is a pebble" (FWBT 289)—as evidence that Pilar is an analogue for Stein: "just as Hemingway
respected Stein's strength as a writer, Jordan respects Pilar's
power as a teller of tales" (47).
Hemingway did learn a great
deal about writing and story telling from Stein, but the facts—that the passage
refers to putting onions in a sandwich, and that the speech puts Jordan with Agustín, with no reference to Pilar—are
conveniently ignored in the rush to connect her with Stein.
A second problem is that with the iconic critics,
whose approach to Pilar is a variation of symbolic
reduction. To these critics, who include John J. Teunissen
and Allen Josephs, she is the pillar
of the novel, Nuestra Señora
del Pilar, "Patroness of Spain, Spanishness itself" (Josephs 74), the "wise old
woman" who leads "the way back and down to the dark gods within the
individual and group psyche" (Teunissen
232). Though these are accolades worthy
of her character, even these observations focus too exclusively on Pilar's role as a mystery
character, missing her narratological function
and, ultimately, the complexities of the character she exhibits.
In spite of her intuitive and mysterious qualities,
for example, Pilar informs the novel as a metacharacter whose very storytelling not only identifies
Hemingway's own ideas about the role of the storyteller, but whose stories
function reflexively as echoes of versions of the past, as savagely ironic
commentary juxtaposed to events and characters in the novel's present, and as ethical and
romantic models for both what has been lost and what wisdom has come from those
losses: her stories are far more than "set pieces" in the
novel. In her reactions to the horrors of the gauntlet, she not only exposes
the politically explosive fact of republican brutality, but recalls the ethical
foundation for the civilization being destroyed by everyone in the novel. In her relationship to Maria, she is not only
a surrogate mother and confidante, sister and (perhaps) a lover, protector and
educator, but when one connects her attitudes, as seen in that relationship, to
her earlier love for Finito, one may discover the
fullness of her character as a romantic heroine—a fullness that is also too
often neglected because critics focus on her body type, her statements that she
is "ugly," the fact that she may have gypsy blood, and so on. Yet she may be seen more clearly as one who has loved
deeply and lost her beloved, who has lingered long enough in that dream of what
might have been to know what love really is, and consequently, as one whose
wisdom enables the love affair of her surrogate child, Maria, a woman
gang-raped by fascists and whom she protects from the men of her own band, a
woman she guides skillfully toward the relationship with Jordan, in which she
foresees a kind of healing. Further, as
a leader, Pilar displays that kind of strategic
understanding that intuitively grasps the implications of Jordan's or Sordo's plans, and she is wise enough to know where she and
others may contribute as followers—yet she also spots problems and acts swiftly
to counter them: she can be brutally
honest, even savage, with the uncooperative Pablo, and yet one never gets the
feeling that she is motivated by rage at him as a man, but only at his
actions. Pilar
is also quick to forgive: she is above
all a nurturing presence, though this is sometimes obscured in the other
personae she adopts as circumstances warrant.
Finally, as a prophet who intuits future events,
reading Jordan's death in his palm or smelling death on one who is about to
die, she bears both the peculiar "otherness" of those who are gypsies
(though Hemingway never clarifies the extent to which she is a
"gypsy," despite Barea's loud protestations
to that effect) and opens those maddening questions about the nature of
reality—not only why we suffer and what kind of god would allow it, but what
kinds of knowledge are open to us as humans:
whether, for example, the deterministic materialism of the marxists—whose views have permeated the republican movement
even to its peasant core, as seen in Joaquin's blind adherence to La Pasionaria's maxims or in Anselmo's
struggle with the ethics of penance when "we no longer have religion"
(196)—can account for wisdoms borne of the experience of massive suffering or
the kind of foreknowing invested in a human consciousness alien to the
empirical mindset. The theme is never
resolved in the novel: but Hemingway tantalizes us with it, and with the notion
of something beyond this vale of
tears, even as he forces us to explore the ways in which we tear each other and
ourselves to pieces. In that crucial
interplay of realities, the central figure is Pilar
herself, one who withholds or gives, closes or opens possibilities as her own
scrupulously careful spirit dictates to her: Pilar is
a character whose presence is pivotal in this, the greatest and most symphonic
of Hemingway's novels: though neither
its major heroine nor main character, in a very real sense she is the rock upon
which Hemingway built For Whom The Bell
Tolls.
Shadowing the
Author: Pilar
as Historian and Conscience
As a metacharacter, a figure
replicating or shadowing the
author-function in her stories—the "set pieces" noted in the old
criticism—Pilar provides a foundation for the entire
action of the novel. The gauntlet story,
in which the Republicans of Pablo's village round up and systematically kill
the fascists who had held power in that village (FWBT 98-130), does far more than illuminate Pablo's past leadership
qualities or provide a criticism of those who see all war as a fight between
"us" and "them": her
story tells the grim truth about the atrocities committed by both sides during
the Spanish Civil War. Gabrielle Ranzato notes the purges and massacres that marked both
sides during every phase of the war, beginning with the Nationalist slaughter
of 3000-4000 "reds" in the Plaza
del Toros of Badajoz, the Republican slaughter of
2000 at Paracuellos de Jarama
(93), the famous bombing of Guérnica, the systematic
murder of local officials and priests, the exhumation and exhibition of the
cadavers of religious people, and massacres eerily reminiscent of that described
by Pilar, including "the 'Fascists' of Ronda who
were thrown off a cliff, or those in Ciudad Real cast into the well of a mine,
or of Santander, pushed off the shoal of Cabo
Mayor" (Ranzato 95). As such, Pilar is a
mouthpiece for Hemingway's own horrified reaction to what was happening in
Spain, but she also, like her creator, refuses to restrict her indictment to
the cruelties of her enemies, seeing too that her own people are involved in
it.
Pilar's tale more particularly
serves to illustrate the entire psychology underlying the inhumane behaviors we
now associate with all warfare, how any timid, "civilized" men can be
converted to butchers when held in the spell of a mob. Pilar's choices of
what to tell and how to tell it mirror Hemingway's own goals in representing
the horrors of the war without that ideological bias which accuses others while
refusing to confront one's own behaviors.
Hemingway reflects this concern in a 1939 letter, where he claims that
I try to show all
the different sides of it, taking it slowly and honestly and examining it
from many ways. . . . We know war is bad . . . and any man who says it is not
is a liar. But it is very complicated
and difficult to write about truly. . . . I would like to be able to write
understandingly about both deserters and heroes, cowards and brave men,
traitors and men who are not capable of being traitors. (EH on
Writing 23-24)
Jordan himself, noting the perfection with which Pilar tells the story, echoes this Hemingway credo when he
says that "she's better than Quevedo . . . He
never wrote the death of any Don Faustino as well as she told it." Further, Jordan wishes he could "write
well enough to write that story . . . What we did. Not what the others did to us" (FWBT 134-35).
Thus Pilar's story is more
than a mere set piece, yet it is as a psychologist that her peculiar power with
words shines most brilliantly. She not
only deftly captures the gestures and speech of those men who in their horror,
rage, and terror are dragged to their deaths, but also traces how the peasants
agonize over the task Pablo has given them, and what ultimately converts these
unwilling participants into mindless assassins:
first the defiance and insults of Don Ricardo arouse their blood
"and where, before, they were performing a duty and with no great taste
for it, now they were angry, and the difference was apparent" (FWBT 111). Once aroused, they descend into cruelty when
Don Faustino appears, terrified by his ordeal to come, and eventually the mob
degenerates into vicious bestiality—attempting to set a corpse afire and
ultimately engaging in orgiastic violence:
I saw the hall full of men flailing away with clubs
and striking with flails, and poking and striking and pushing and heaving against
people with the white wooden pitchforks that now were red and with their tines
broken, and this was going on all over the room while Pablo sat in the big
chair with his shotgun on his knees, watching, and they were shouting and
clubbing and stabbing and men were screaming as horses scream in a fire. (FWBT 125)
Through all of this, Pilar
refuses to flinch from telling the truth carefully and in great detail. Her honesty is not simply a political
indictment, however, though many have taken it that way. She is far more concerned to make Jordan
understand what has happened to her land and her people, and to see just what a
leader like Pablo is capable of. Yet she
is simultaneously the conscience whose horror reflects the civility that has
been lost, and the bearer of tears, as in her memory of the woman weeping in
the moonlight, a portrait in words worthy of Picasso's sorrowful 1937 portrait,
Woman Weeping:
I could see the square in the moonlight where the
lines had been and across the square the trees shining in the moonlight, and
the darkness of their shadows, and the benches bright too in the moonlight, and
the scattered bodies shining, and beyond the edge of the cliff where they had
all been thrown. And there was no sound
but the splashing of the water in the fountain and sat there and I thought we
have begun badly. The window was open and up the square from the Fonda I could
hear a woman crying. I went out on the
balcony standing there in my bare feet on the iron and the moon shone on the faces
of all the buildings of the square and the crying was coming from the balcony
of the house of Don Guillermo. It was
his wife and she was on the balcony kneeling and crying. (FWBT 129)
Thus the story of the gauntlet illuminates Pilar as metacharacter
replicating the authorial function, as an historian committed to the truth
beyond ideology and political side-taking, as a careful observer of human mob
psychology—grasping as well the motivations and peculiarities of individual
responses within that mob. We see her
telling this story not only to warn Jordan about Pablo, but to make him
understand, as well as a storyteller can, the depth of what her people have
suffered, both as murderers and victims;
she provides the horrifying context for the coming attack and the partizans' part in it, blowing the bridge.
Pilar as Wise
Woman, Lover and Romantic
Pilar's story of her love affair
with Finito also serves multiple purposes. Ostensibly a romantic memory of a now-fading
past in which she found fulfillment with Finito, the
story also contrasts with her current loveless relationship to Pablo and serves
as a model of love's healing powers even when the beloved is dying. Simultaneously, the tale mirrors the ecstacy of love, her sorrow at the loss of that love, yet
it is also a passive-aggressive rebuke to Pablo for his neglect of her. Beyond the personal motivations she may have
in telling it in the present, the story also serves to explore the depths of both
the heroism and savagery of the ritual violence of the bullfight, a metaphor
central even to a peaceful Spain and a "master key to Spanish culture with
its tragic sense of life" (Stanton 170).
As such, the bullfight story serves as a comment even on noncombatant
civilization, where our darker impulses are channeled into ritual
aggression. Stanton links this
ritualized aggression to modern warfare, suggesting that despite the horrors
explicit in both, "men and women must also learn to live gracefully amidst
the constant threat of annihilation" (170). Given such a premise, it should be clear that Pilar's knowledge of the "darkness in us" which
even Jordan knows nothing of suggests both her astute grasp of human nature and
the cool perspective with which she is able to view the behavior of Pablo and
others around her (Stanton 171).
On another level, her passion for Finito
is, as Pilar's experiences of la gloria of love and as an echo of the
romantic Spain now being lost, directly comparable to that of Robert and
Maria. Like theirs, her love is initially
astounding in its physical abandon:
We made love in the room with the strip wood blinds
hanging over the balcony and a breeze through the opening of the top of the
door which turned on hinges. We made love there, the room dark in the day time
from the hanging blinds, and from the hanging blinds, and from the streets
there was the scent of the flower market and the smell of burned powder from
the firecrackers of the traca that ran through the streets exploding
each noon during the Feria. (FWBT 85)
There are differences, of course: Maria is psychologically maimed before
falling in love, and Pilar has had to nurture her
back to the point where she is capable of loving a man, and when Maria displays
that attraction to Jordan, Pilar instructs her and
Jordan about how to proceed so that Maria will not be hurt again. Pilar seems to have
two motivations for taking the role of the galeotto—the
go-between who, in medieval romance, enables the lovers to come together: she sees that there is little time for the
love affair to happen (given that she believes Jordan will die and that he, a
good man, should know love while he lives), but she also hopes that the sexual
healing that occurs between them will give Maria a taste of love as it should
be.
These two motivations may seem cruelly at
cross-purposes if one assumes that
she knows Jordan will die: why give Jordan hope for life and love when
there is none? Why give Maria a taste of
love which will only be snatched from her—and how will this kind of disappointment
affect her healing? It should be noted
that she is far from certain of what her own intuitions tell her: at one point, she instructs Maria how to be a
good wife, as if to prepare her for a future that may include Jordan, and at
another, she tells Jordan to forget the "gypsy nonsense" of seeing
death in his hand (FWBT 387). She seems plagued by foresight, but unsure
that her foreknowing is true—or hopeful that she is wrong. Further, the seeming
inconsistency is less troubling when one places it into the context of Pilar's own experience—that, while passionate, this initial
love may be fleeting and even the beloved may be taken at a moment's notice, as
Pilar's Finito was.
The importance, from her point of view, is to make the
most of love when it happens, and when things don't turn out, to allow one's
love to help the beloved even in the face of death. As in the agony of parting between Maria and
Robert, so too was the loss of Finito. Pilar had been able
to nurse him during his last days:
"having washed him and covered him with a sheet, she would lie by
him in the bed and he would put a brown hand out and touch her and say, 'Thou
art much woman, Pilar'" (FWBT 189). Pilar says she stayed with him five years and "never
was unfaithful to him, that is almost never" (190)—yet the loss still defines her sense of
love, for it is the story that informs us most about what she has known of
it. This kind of devotion, learned through
the passion and loss of romance, also explains why she nurses Maria back to health,
guards her against men (as she still guards Finito
against those who disparage the memory of him as a matador), and encourages the
love affair of Robert and Maria while warning him to "be very good and
careful" with Maria because "she has had a bad time" (FWBT 32).
Pilar also has a jealous streak,
snapping at Maria before giving her to Jordan, and some critics have seized
upon this as a sign that she is covertly a lesbian who even "threatens the
man's performance" and is a "potential sexual rival" (Sanderson
187). She does stroke Maria's head, and
insists that "there is always something like something that there should
not be" between two people (154), even claiming to Jordan that she could
"take the rabbit [Maria] from thee and take thee from the rabbit"
(155). Yet even as she acknowledges her
same-sex attraction to Maria, she is quick to say "I want thy happiness
and nothing more" and that "I am no tortillera but a woman made for men" (155). The contradictions in these claims show Pilar troubled at losing one she has nurtured against male
hostility, anxious about giving her up to a man, while at the same time showing
an inability to disguise her attraction to her youthful charge. That she gives Maria up and later instructs
her how to care for Jordan shows not a grasping sensibility, but a complex
sexuality that ultimately is generous, giving, and caring—a point often lost on
those troubled by her bisexual sensibility.
That giving nature is both an
echo of the love she knew with Finito and a sign of
the wisdom that love comes too seldom to all, and that it must be given away if
one is to fully know it.
Pilar as Bearer of
the Duende
Pilar serves yet another purpose
in the novel, and one that is more or less overlooked in discussions of her foreknowing
events: this is the way in which
Hemingway uses her uncanny foresight as a contrast to the strategic mindset of
Robert Jordan, the dialectical materialism of the leftist leaders and the
anxious gropings of commoners who have lost their
god. Edward F. Stanton sees her
introducing Jordan to a realm of mystery that is "deeper, more ancient and
numinous than his limited, pragmatic world," an understanding connected to
the Spanish concept of duende. Federico Garcia Lorca had described duende as "the spirit of the earth" which is a
matter of "blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous
creation" (43), but also of openness to death (47):
The duende does not come at
all unless he sees that death is possible.
The duende must know beforehand that he can
serenade death's house and rock those branches we all wear, branches that do
not have, will never have, any consolation.
(49-50)
In being attuned to the duende, Pilar
takes on yet another level of "Spanishness
itself" beyond her symbolic role as "Nuestra
Senora del Pilar": her wisdom contains the compassionate light
which can exclaim, "for what are we born if not
to aid one another?" (139)—but it also reads death in the hand of a good
man, sees signs in the events of the day, and can smell death as a real
presence.
Hemingway, of course, utilizes this aspect of her
character as a way of reifying the motif of foreshadowing, but her vision of
reality also contrasts and questions both the reasoning strategic mindset of
Jordan and the atheistic materialism of the communists, who range from the
coldly cynical Kharkov and the power-maddened Comrade Marty, to peasants like Anselmo and Joaquin, who are uncomfortable with the
ideology they have accepted—and who revert to their old prayers when faced with
death. In one sense, Pilar
is a mystery character, one whose
appeal is augmented by the fact that we cannot fully see where her heart
lies—though we may intimate it through her pillar-like resolution, and her
straightforward honesty—but she also raises the epistemological question at the
heart of the philosophical debate over metaphysics and empiricism: is there a wisdom which transcends the limits
of the intellect, and if so, is there a reality beyond that which we experience
in this life and an explanation for the suffering we endure?
In creating her vision in such stark contrast to the
vision of other characters in the novel, Hemingway poses but does not answer
the question: typically, he refuses the
narrow ideological response and the simple answer, forcing us into the realm of
uncertainty. The problems with a purely
empirical and materialistic vision of reality are evident throughout the
novel: lacking a clear ethical directive,
the communists at Gaylord's are full of their high thoughts but lacking any
resolution, and those who do show resolution in life can become tyrannical, as
in Marty's case, or full of terrible uncertainties, such as Anselmo
or Joaquin. Anselmo
reifies the problem most fully: saddened
that he can no longer have God and that he must kill his enemies, he at first
declares that "now a man must be responsible to himself" (FWBT 41), later casting his uncertainty
as a need for penance:
I think that after the war there will have to be some
great penance done for the killing. If we
no longer have religion after the war then I think there must be some form of
civic penance organized that all may be cleansed from the killing or else we
will never have a true and human basis for living. (196)
Though he is the most decent and civil character in
the novel, Anselmo finds his new belief shaken to the
core when he realizes what Lieutenant Berrendo and
his fascist troops have done to El Sordo and his
band; he reverts to an agonized prayer begging for help from the Lord he had
earlier denied. Hemingway emphasizes the
irony of that prayer not only in the horror that prompts Anselmo's
reconversion—and both the anxious unease of atheism and the emotional
foundation of the blindly religious mindset—but also in the fact that, after
cutting off the heads of El Sordo's men, Lieutenant Berrendo unthinkingly mixes his savagery with his
prayers. The relentless critique of
dialectical materialism is even more forcefully brought home in the example of
Marty, the political ideologue who "has a mania for shooting people"
(418) and who browbeats Andres and Gomez in the hope of getting something on
his superior, General Golz. Yet Hemingway pushes the critique even
further, in the contrast between Pilar's wisdom and
the level-headed strategic mindset of Robert Jordan.
On the surface, Hemingway would seem to imply that her
duende-driven grasp of reality sees more accurately
than the plans and ethics of those, like Jordan, trapped in a merely empirical
and pragmatic mindset: she accurately
foresees horrors to come after the gauntlet, the love affair of Robert and
Maria, the soon-to-come death of Robert, and even challenges his perceptions,
mocking him as the "professor" who is a "miracle of
deafness" (250, 251). Despite her
apparent certainty, however, Pilar's visionary
mentality has shortcomings: she needs
Jordan's strategic mentality to grasp how to function well in battle, and has
some self-doubts, as noted earlier—either hoping that Robert will not take her
"seeing" so seriously that it stops him from acting, or recognizing
that she herself may have "seen" incorrectly (387). One supposes that her statement—that it is
"all gypsy nonsense that I make to give myself importance" and that
"there is no such thing" as foreseeing death—is not per se a denial of
foresight so much as it is a measure of her anxiousness now that the moment is
arriving.
Perhaps Robert's own musings on the subject come
closest to the heart of the questions raised by Pilar's
foresight. Late in the night before the
dawn attack, Jordan muses about la gloria, saying he is "no mystic, but to deny it is
as ignorant as though you denied the telephone or that the earth revolves
around the sun." He muses about
"how little we know of what there is to know." He has learned, through his experiences with Pilar and in the love affair with Maria that he has much
more to learn, recognizing "so many things that I know nothing of"
(380). Later, as he awaits the pursuers
who will bring his death with them, he claims he doesn't believe in Pilar's foresight, yet says people like her "see
something. Or they feel something. . . . What about extra-sensory
perception?" (467). He is unable to
grasp whatever it is she knows, but he muses, in his final moments, that there
is more to the world than what the senses and the mind can conceive.
Conclusion
The exploration of this epistemological and ethical
theme would have been impossible without the figure of Pilar
representing the duende and the spirit that cannot be
contained in the rational or the empirical, in contrast with the views of other
characters. Nor would we fully grasp the
spirit of romance that informs the relationship of Robert and Maria without the
wisdom and pathos of Pilar's love for Finito, and the novel would be far less free of narrow
ideology without her story of the gauntlet. It is difficult to grasp all the
facets of this woman's character in even four or five readings of For Whom the Bell Tolls, but it should
be clear that she not only serves a central purpose in its narratological
structure but, as the author's stand-in character, presents the model by which
many of its unresolvable political, romantic, and
spiritual conflicts resonate. Finally, Pilar is not only the "mountain" Robert Jordan saw
in her, but also the "most complex character in all of Hemingway's
fiction' (Stanton 169), and to reduce her to a lesbian or nurturing type, to see her as a simple analogue
for Grace Hemingway or Gertrude Stein, to limit her to a symbolic function or
iconic status or to make of her a "mannish woman whose superiority
threatens the man's performance" (Sanderson 187) is to oversimplify a
character whose infinite variety can only be hinted at, not be contained in a
mere critical agenda.
Appendix A:
Pilar
As
advisor to Robert Jordan |
68,
88-89, 91, 150, 250-51, 387, 464 |
As
anti-feminist (submission to man) |
349 |
As
feminist |
203,
324 |
As
follower, loyal co-worker |
268,
298-99 |
As
leader (supported by others) |
53,
55-56, 299 |
As
psychiatrist for Maria |
136-37,
324, 348-49 |
As
storyteller |
134 |
Difficulty
giving up Maria |
154-56 |
Farewell
to Jordan (cheerful) |
405,
464 |
For
blowing the bridge |
31,
53 |
Forgiving
Pablo |
390-91 |
Has
she lost a child? |
255 |
Heterosexual
or lesbian? |
154-56 |
Impatience |
444 |
Is
she a gypsy? |
28,
175-76 |
On
men |
32,
98, 203, 349 |
On
Pablo |
89 |
On
sex (the earth moving) |
174-75 |
On
a woman's body |
349 |
Premonitions |
32-33,
127, 150, 250-57, 345, 387 |
Protecting
Maria |
73,
290 |
Religion |
88,
89 |
Sees
death in Jordan's hand |
33 |
Smell
of death |
251-52,
254-56 |
Ugliness |
97 |
Appendix B:
Pilar's Bullfighters
Finito de Palencia |
182-86,
188-90, 252 |
Rafael
El Gallo |
187 |
Manolo Granero |
251-53 |
Juan
Luis de la Rosa |
251,
253 |
Blanquet |
251,
253 |
Joselito |
252,
253 |
Ignacio
Sanchez Mejias |
253 |
Marcial Laland |
251,
252 |
Chicuelo |
251,
252 |
Appendix C:
Pilar's Stories
Story of Finito
Romance
with Finito (in Valencia) |
84-86 |
Finito as a bullfighter |
182-84 |
"Thou
art much woman, Pilar" |
189 |
Finito's bravery and death |
185-90 |
Story of the Gauntlet in Pablo's hometown
Pablo
at the beginning of the war |
99 |
Assaulting
the barracks |
100 |
Death
of the guardias |
101-02 |
Pablo's
organization |
103-04 |
The
men's hesitation |
105-08 |
Death
of Don Benito Garcia (mayor) |
108-09 |
Death
of Don Federico Gonzalez (mill owner) |
109 |
Peasant's
revulsion at the spectacle |
110 |
Death
of Don Ricardo Montalvo
(defiant landowner) |
110-11 |
Change
in the men, savoring the killing |
111-12 |
Death
of Don Faustino Rivero (playboy, terrified) |
112-14 |
The
men become cruel / drunkards egg them on |
114-15 |
Death
of Don Guillermo Martin (store owner) |
115-16,
118 |
Drunkenness
exacerbates the cruelty |
116-17 |
Pilar's feeling of shame and sickness |
119 |
Death
of Don Anastasio Rivas (fat man) |
119-20 |
Mob
reduced to animalistic shouting |
121 |
Don
Anastasio's corpse set on fire by drunkards |
122 |
Death
of Don José Castro (Don Pepé, horsedealer) |
123 |
Priest
and 8-20 others killed en masse |
124-25 |
Pilar feels hollow, sure they'll be punished |
127 |
Pablo
too is disillusioned |
128 |
Pilar hears Don Guillermo's wife crying in moonlight |
129 |
Revenge
of the fascists |
129 |
Appendix D:
Pilar's Premonitions, Attentiveness, and Non-Ideology
Foresees
love affair of Robert and Maria |
32 |
Reading
death in Robert's hand |
33 |
"I
am for the Republic" |
53,
90 |
"I
was watching thee . . . thy judgment was good" |
68 |
Premonition
of "bad to come" after the gauntlet |
127 |
"For
what are we born if not to aid one another?" |
139 |
"I
can see the end of it well enough" |
150 |
Reading
the sky—sees that snow is coming |
176-77 |
Challenging
the rational mind / the smell of death |
250-57 |
Needs
direction once the fighting starts |
298 |
"We will all die tomorrow" |
345 |
Jordan
muses about her seeing "something" |
467 |
Appendix E:
References Religion and Political / Materialist
Ideology
Anselmo's loss of God |
41 |
Robert
is "anti-fascist" rather than communist |
66 |
Robert's
politics |
163-65 |
Anselmo on penance even without God |
196-97 |
Communists
at Gaylord's |
229-34 |
Religious
air of the movement |
235 |
Karkov on ideology:
friendship, power, and money |
243 |
Jordan
is not a real communist |
305 |
Joaquin
reverts to Hail Marys when he sees his death |
321 |
Anselmo reverts to prayer |
327 |
Jordan
sees his own death coming in the light of gloria |
380 |
Comrade
Marty as the power-mad communist |
417-26 |
Robert
on religion and death: "facing it
straight" |
468 |
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Note: This essay was presented at the Grand Rapids
Community College Hemingway Conference in Spring, 2000, and later aired in
rotation on the college channel.