“[. . .] Úrsula suddenly realized that the house had become full of people, that her children were on the point of marrying and having children, and that they would be obliged to scatter for lack of space. Then she took out the money she had accumulated over long years of hard labor, made some arrangements with her customers, and undertook the enlargement of the house. She had a formal parlor for visits built, another one that was more comfortable and cool for daily use, a dining room with a table with twelve places where the family could sit with all of their guests, nine bedrooms with windows on the courtyard, and a long porch protected from the heat of noon by a rose garden with a railing on which to place pots of ferns and begonias. She had the kitchen enlarged to hold two ovens. The granary where Pilar Ternera had read José Arcadio’s future was torn down and another twice as large built so that there would never be a lack of food in the house. She had baths built in the courtyard in the shade of the chestnut tree, one for the women and another for the men, and in the rear a large stable, a fenced-in chicken yard, a shed for the milk cows, and an aviary open to the four winds so that wandering birds could roost there at their pleasure [. . .]

“The new house was almost finished when Úrsula drew him [José Arcadio Buendía] out of his chimerical world in order to inform him that she had an order to paint the front blue and not white as they had wanted. She showed him the official document. José Arcadio Buendía, without understanding what his wife was talking about, deciphered the signature.

“‘Who is this fellow?’ he asked.

“‘The magistrate,’ Úrsula answered disconsolately. ‘They say he’s an authority sent by the government.’

“Don Apolinar Moscote, the magistrate, had arrived in Macondo very quietly. He put up at the Hotel Jacob—built by one of the first Arabs who came to swap knickknacks for macaws—and on the following day he rented a small room with a door on the street two blocks away from the Buendía house. He set up a table and a chair that he had bought from Jacob, nailed up on the wall the shield of the republic that he had brought with him, and on the door he painted the sign: Magistrate. His first order was for all the houses to be painted blue in celebration of the anniversary of national independence. José Arcadio Buendía, with the copy of the order in his hand, found him taking his nap in a hammock he had set up in the narrow office. ‘Did you write this paper?’ he asked him. Don Apolinar Moscote, a mature man, timid, with a ruddy complexion, said yes. ‘By what right?’ José Arcadio Buendía asked again. Don Apolinar Moscote picked up a paper from the drawer of the table and showed it to him. ‘I have been named magistrate of this town.’ José Arcadio Buendía did not even look at the appointment.

“‘In this town we do not give orders with pieces of paper,’ he said without losing his calm. ‘And so that you know it once and for all, we don’t need any judges here because there’s nothing that needs judging.’

“Facing Don Apolinar Moscote, still without raising his voice, he gave a detailed account of how they had founded the village, of how they had distributed the land, opened the roads, and introduced the improvements that necessity required witout having bothered the government and without anyone having bothered them. ‘We are so peaceful that none of us has died even a natural death,’ he said. ‘You can see that we still don’t have any cemetery.’ No one was upset that the government had not helped them. On the contrary, they were happy that up until then it had let them grow in peace, and he hoped it would continue leaving them that way, because they had not founded a town so that the first upstart who came along would tell them what to do. Don Apolinar had put on his denim jacket, white like his trousers, without losing at any moment the elegance of his gestures.

“‘So that if you want to stay here like any other ordinary citizen, you’re quite welcome,’ José Arcadio Buendía concluded. ‘But if you’ve come to cause disorder by making the people paint their houses blue, you can pick up your junk and go back where you came from. Because my house is going to be white, like a dove.'”