http://www.eq-plat.org/

the firing squad, had an intense paleness and a hard lump in his throat when he met the bride at the door of the
house and led her to the altar. She behaved as naturally, with such discretion, that she did not lose her composure,
not even when Aureliano dropped the ring as he tried to put it on her finger. In the midst of the. murmurs and
confusion of the guests, she kept her arm with the fingerless lace glove held up and remained like that with her
ring finger ready until the bridegroom managed to stop the ring with his foot before it rolled to the door, and
came back blushing to the altar. Her mother and sisters suffered so much from the fear that the child would do
something wrong during the ceremony that in the end they were the ones who committed the impertinence of
picking her up to kiss her. From that day on the sense of responsibility, the natural grace, the calm control that
?37 312188 3
Remedios would have in the face of adverse circumstances was revealed. It was she who, on her own initiative,
put aside the largest piece that she had cut from the wedding cake and took it on a plate with a fork to Jos?
Arcadio Buendaa. Tied to the trunk of the chestnut tree, huddled on a wooden stool underneath the palm shelter,
the enormous old man, discolored by the sun and rain, made a vague smile of gratitude and at the piece of cake
with his fingers, mumbling an unintelligible psalm. The only unhappy person in that noisy celebration,daoc power leveling, which
lasted until dawn on Monday, was Rebeca Buendaa. It was her own frustrated party. By an arrangement of
2rsula’s, her marriage was to be celebrated on the same day, but that Friday Pietro Crespi received a letter with
the news of his mother’s imminent death. The wedding was postponed. Pietro Crespi left for the capital of the
province an hour after receiving the letter, and on the road he missed his mother, who arrived punctually
Saturday night and at Aureliano’s wedding sang the sad aria that she had prepared for the wedding of her son.
Pietro Crespi returned on Sunday midnight to sweep up the ashes of the party,buy flyff penya, after having worn out five horses
on the road in an attempt to be in time for his wedding. It was never discovered who wrote the letter. Tormented
by 2rsula, Amaranta wept with indignation and swore her innocence in front of the altar, which the carpenters
had not finished dismantling.
Father Nicanor Reyna?awhom Don Apolinar Moscote had brought from the swamp to officiate at the wedding
?awas an old man hardened by the ingratitude of his ministry. His skin was sad, with the bones almost exposed,
and he had a pronounced round stomach and the expression of an old angel,daoc plat, which came more from, simplicity
than from goodness. He had planned to return to his pariah after the wedding, but he was appalled at the hardness
of the inhabitants of Macondo, who were prospering in the midst of scandal,conan power leveling, subject to the natural law, without
baptizing their children or sanctifying their festivals. Thinking that no land needed the seed of God so much, he
decided to stay on for another week to Christianize both circumcised and gentile, legalize concubinage, and give
the sacraments to the dying. But no one paid any attention to him. They would answer him that they had been
many years without a priest, arranging the business of their souls directly with God, and that they had lost the
evil of original sin. Tired of preaching in the open, Father Nicanor decided to undertake the building of a church,
the largest in the world, with life-size saints and stained-glass windows on the sides, so that people would come
from Rome to honor God in the center of impiety. He went everywhere begging alms with a copper dish. They
gave him a large amount, but he wanted more, because the church had to have a bell that would raise the

the tormenting hammering and the constant noise of wooden lathings ceased in a silence that was startled at the
order and neatness of the music. They all ran to the parlor. Jos?Arcadio Buendaa was as if struck by lightning, not
because of the beauty of the melody, but because of the automatic working of the keys of the pianola, and he set
up Melquaades?camera with the hope of getting a daguerreotype of the invisible player. That day the Italian had
lunch with them. Rebeca and Amaranta, serving the table, were intimidated by the way in which the angelic man
with pale and ringless hands manipulated the utensils. In the living room, next to the parlor, Pietro Crespi taught
them how to dance. He showed them the steps without touching them, keeping time with a metronome, under the
friendly eye of 2rsula,runescape money, who did not leave the room for a moment while her daughters had their lesson. Pietro
Crespi wore special pants on those days, very elastic and tight, and dancing slippers, “You don’t have to worry so
much,?Jos?Arcadio Buendaa told her. “The man’s a fairy.?But she did not leave off her vigilance until the
apprenticeship was over and the Italian left Macondo. Then they began to organize the party. 2rsula drew up a
strict guest list, in which the only ones invited were the descendants of the founders, except for the family of
Pilar Ternera, who by then had had two more children by unknown fathers. It was truly a high-class list, except
that it was determined by feelings of friendship, for those favored were not only the oldest friends of Jos?Arcadio
Buendaa’s house since before they undertook the exodus and the founding of Macondo, but also their sons and
grandsons, who were the constant companions of Aureliano and Arcadio since infancy, and their daughters, who
were the only ones who visited the house to embroider with Rebeca and Amaranta. Don Apolinar Moscote, the
benevolent ruler whose activity had been reduced to the maintenance from his scanty resources of two policemen
armed with wooden clubs, was a figurehead. In older to support the household expenses his daughters had
opened a sewing shop, where they made felt flowers as well as guava delicacies, and wrote love notes to order.
?28 312188 3
But in spite of being modest and hard-working, the most beautiful girls in Iowa,aoc power leveling, and the most skilled at the new
dances, they did not manage to be considered for the party.
While 2rsula and the girls unpacked furniture,conan power leveling, polished silverware, and hung pictures of maidens in boats full
of roses, which gave a breath of new life to the naked areas that the masons had built, Jos?Arcadio Buendaa
stopped his pursuit of the image of God,conan power leveling, convinced of His nonexistence, and he took the pianola apart in order to
decipher its magical secret. Two days before the party, swamped in a shower of leftover keys and hammers,
bungling in the midst of a mix-up of strings that would unroll in one direction and roll up again in the other, he
succeeded in a fashion in putting the instrument back together. There had never been as many surprises and as
much dashing about as in those days, but the new pitch lamps were lighted on the designated day and hour. The
house was opened, still smelling of resin and damp whitewash, and the children and grandchildren of the
founders saw the porch with ferns and begonias, the quiet rooms, the garden saturated with the fragrance of the
roses, and they gathered together in the parlor, facing the unknown invention that had been covered with a white
sheet. Those who were familiar with the piano, popular in other towns in the swamp, felt a little disheartened, but
more bitter was 2rsula’s disappointment when she put in the first roll so that Amaranta and Rebeca could begin

hat as he read with compassionate attention the signs pasted to the walls. He greeted him with a broad show of
affection, afraid that he had known him at another time and that he did not remember him now. But the visitor
was aware of his falseness, He felt himself forgotten, not with the irremediable forgetfulness of the heart, but
with a different kind of forgetfulness, which was more cruel and irrevocable and which he knew very well
because it was the forgetfulness of death. Then he understood. He opened the suitcase crammed with
indecipherable objects and from among then he took out a little case with many flasks. He gave Jos?Arcadio
Buendaa a drink of a gentle color and the light went on in his memory. His eyes became moist from weeping
even before he noticed himself in an absurd living room where objects were labeled and before he was ashamed
of the solemn nonsense written on the walls, and even before he recognized the newcomer with a dazzling glow
of joy. It was Melquaades.
While Macondo was celebrating the recovery of its memory, Jos?Arcadio Buendaa and Melquaades dusted off
their old friendship. The gypsy was inclined to stay in the town. He really had been through death, but he had
returned because he could not bear the solitude. Repudiated by his tribe, having lost all of his supernatural
faculties because of his faithfulness to life, he decided to take refuge in that corner of the world which had still
not been discovered by death, dedicated to the operation of a daguerreotype laboratory. Jos?Arcadio Buendaa had
never heard of that invention. But when he saw himself and his whole family fastened onto a sheet of iridescent
metal for an eternity, he was mute with stupefaction. That was the date of the oxidized daguerreotype in which
Jos?Arcadio Buendaa appeared with his bristly and graying hair, his card board collar attached to his shirt by a
copper button, and an expression of startled solemnity,conan power leveling, whom 2rsula described, dying with laughter, as a
“frightened general.?Jos?Arcadio Buendaa was, in fact,cheap conan gold, frightened on that dear December morning when the
daguerreotype was made, for he was thinking that people were slowly wearing away while his image would
endure an a metallic plaque. Through a curious reversal of custom, it was 2rsula who got that idea out of his
head, as it was also she who forgot her ancient bitterness and decided that Melquaades would stay on in the
house, although she never permitted them to make a daguerreotype of her because (according to her very words)
?23 312188 3
she did not want to survive as a laughingstock for her grandchildren. That morning she dressed the children in
their best clothes,aoc power leveling, powdered their faces, and gave a spoonful of marrow syrup to each one so that they would all
remain absolutely motionless during the nearly two minutes in front of Melquaades fantastic camera. In the
family daguerreotype, the only one that ever existed, Aureliano appeared dressed in black velvet between
Amaranta and Rebeca. He had the same languor and the same clairvoyant look that he would have years later as
he faced the firing squad. But he still had not sensed the premonition of his fate. He was an expert silversmith,
praised all over the swampland for the delicacy of his work. In the workshop, which he shared with Melquaades?
mad laboratory, he could barely be heard breathing. He seemed to be taking refuge in some other time,eve isk, while his
father and the gypsy with shouts interpreted the predictions of Nostradamus amidst a noise of flasks and trays
and the disaster of spilled acids and silver bromide that was lost in the twists and turns it gave at every instant.
That dedication to his work, the good judgment with which he directed his attention, had allowed Aureliano to