Life, 1914-04-23 · page 7 of 44
Life — April 23, 1914 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a short story titled "A Brunette Pastoral" by L.H.R., illustrated with a dramatic photograph of a cave or rocky gorge overlooking water. The narrative describes a traveler in what appears to be Latin America (references to Sierra Madres, coffee fields, hacienda) questioning a native guide about soldiers and executions. The dialogue reveals dark political commentary: they discuss a "President" who has been shot, another named Miguel Formaldi who will be "President to-morrow," and mention of "Pedro Tomado" as the next successor. The story satirizes the instability of Latin American politics through rapid presidential succession and violence, presenting it as absurdly routine. The guide's matter-of-fact responses ("He was our President yesterday") underscore the satirical point about political chaos and upheaval in the region.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE GUIDE A Brunette Pastoral CROSS the aromatic coffee fields the tremulous note of the ruby-throated hacienda came throb- bing. Far in the distance the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Madres rose against the cerulean. None genuine without the cerulean. . Lounging on the chaparrista in the shade of a concarne bush, the traveler questioned his native guide. “José, who is the man they are taking out to shoot?” “He is our President, Sefior.” “And who was the man they shot just ahead of him?” “He was our President yesterday.” “Where are all those soldiers going, scattered over the buenavista?” “They are looking for Miguel Formalda, Sefior. Miguel will be President to-morrow and he has gone into hiding.” “A strange people you are,” said the traveler, “ Tell me about the fellow who is kicking a mule in the ribs yonder by the corral.” “There is little to tell about him, Sefior, He is only Pedro Tomado. He will be President day after to- morrow.” On the evening breeze came the faint tinkle of the upas bell as the mesquite herds wound slowly o'er the pizarro. L. H.R. comicbooks.com