An extraordinarily lean young man approached to give me his hand. His skin was rough and weather-marked, as if he had come from long and painful labors in the sun. He was prematurely bald, and from his mouth there depended an enormous pipe stuffed with tobacco. He was dressed with elegance, though a little carelessly.
"My brother-in-law, Sabas."
He was followed by a person of about the age of Martí, more or less, tall rather than short, blonde, his mustache small and silky, his skin flaccid, most carefully shaven. He was likewise fashionably dressed, and with a care that contrasted with the negligence of the other.
"My intimate friend and partner, Don Enrique Castell."
These were the only men present. I was next taken before Doña Amparo, who was working at her crochet, seated in a crimson-velvet chair; I was then presented to the wife of his brother-in-law, a plump little woman, round-faced, blonde, and blue-eyed, sitting on a divan and at work with an embroidery frame on her lap. Beside her was a young girl of seventeen years whose face of admirable correctness, soft and ivory-like, had the same expression of timid innocence as the virgins of Murillo. She was the daughter of a white-haired lady with an aquiline nose and severe and imposing physiognomy, seated beside a gilded table with a newspaper in her hands. Martí presented me to her as his Aunt Clara, a cousin of his mother-in-law.
The entire company welcomed me most kindly, particularly Doña Amparo, who with tearful eyes seized both my hands, retaining them until the excess of her emotion obliged her to drop them in order to raise her handkerchief to her eyes. The conversation first turned upon the mishap of that lady. My conduct was eulogized to a degree that put me to shame and made me uneasy, and they discussed the causes of the accident. The brother-in-law of Martí, with voice cavernous and husky, perhaps from abuse of tobacco, bitterly censured the conduct of the authorities of Gijon for not having properly lighted the wharf. I replied that almost all wharves were lighted in the same way, since they were not intended for purposes of public pleasure but for the loading and unloading of merchandise. He insisted upon his position, showing that in all maritime cities the wharves are places of recreation. I replied that in that case people must look out for themselves. Martí cut short the dispute by asking me to what hotel I had gone, that he might send for my luggage. In vain I opposed his doing so. Seeing that he felt hurt by my refusal I gave way at last, all the more since the entire family joined in urging me.
In the meantime Cristina played the piano with careless fingers, talking all the while with her sister-in-law. She was elegantly dressed in a loose crimson gown beneath whose folds were revealed the lines of coming maternity. Whenever I could I gazed at her with intense attention. And when she observed it she seemed restless and nervous, and took pains that her eyes should not meet mine. Martí went out to give some orders about my chamber. His friend and partner, who had kept silent, reclining negligently in an easy-chair with legs crossed, began to ask me various questions about my voyages, the fleet of steamers, the ports where we touched, and everything relating to the commerce in which the ships of our line were engaged. The talk acquired the character of an examination, for Castell showed that he knew as much as I did, or more, about such things. He had travelled much, knew two or three languages perfectly, and on his travels had not only gained knowledge useful in commercial affairs but a multitude of ethnographic, historical, and artistic facts that I was far from possessing. He was a really accomplished man, but I could not help noting that he was fond of exhibiting his learning, that he carefully rounded his periods in his talk and listened to himself, and that, without lacking in courtesy, he did not conceal his slight appreciation of the opinions of others. On the whole the man was not congenial to me, although I recognized his excellent qualities. He had a voice clear and mellow like a preacher, with grave and noble gestures that enabled him to display his hand, which was short and beautiful, and ornamented with rings.
Martí returned, and his Aunt Clara, without giving up her newspaper, questioned him.
"How is it with olives, now, Emilio? Have they not risen twenty centimos this week?"
"Yes, aunt, I am informed that they have risen and will rise still further."
"It couldn't be otherwise," she exclaimed in triumphant tones. "I told Retamoso so last month, and he paid no attention to me. He is obstinate, like a good Galician, and so short-sighted in business that he can scarcely see the length of his nose. If it weren't for me, I believe that he would soon go into bankruptcy."
The voice of the lady was vibrant and powerful; her sculptural head raised itself so proudly when she spoke, her aquiline nose was held so high, and her eyes flashed so imposingly that in her presence one might fancy himself transported to the heroic age of the Roman republic. Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, could not have been more severe and majestic.
Martí coughed, to avoid replying, desiring neither to contradict his aunt nor to offend his uncle.
"And what do you say to the fall in cocoa?" she continued, with the heroic accent that might be employed in asking a consul about a legion surprised and overwhelmed by the Gauls.
Martí contented himself with shrugging his shoulders.
"Yet he had the assurance to deny that it is anything serious," she continued with increasing scorn. "It could only be hid from a man of the narrowest, most limited judgment, altogether unadapted to ventures in the wholesale trade. When I saw the Ibarra steamers arriving, loaded with Guayaquil, I said to myself, 'Yes, indeed, this staple is bound to fall.'"
"Uncle Diego knows how to tell where the shoe pinches, all the same," Martí ventured to remark.
"Yes, indeed! Behind a counter, selling cheese and codfish by the quarter pound, he would be invaluable. But as a man of business he is a good-for-nothing; it is only because I have taken the trouble to think for the two of us that we have been able to get where we are."
At this moment there appeared in the doorway a short stout man, of a pale complexion, bald, with small eyes, who greeted those present with a pronounced Galician accent.
"Good evening! How do you do?"
"Hola! Uncle Diego! How do you do, Retamoso?"
Doña Clara, caught in the act, turned her eyes again to her periodical, without abating an atom of her dignity.
Her husband, who, so far as could be seen, had heard nothing, shook hands with those about him, kissed his daughter, and coming over to his wife, said to her in affectionate tones:
"Don't read at night, wife! Now, you know you are trying your eyes."
Doña Clara took no notice. Retamoso, turning to the others, declared with profound conviction:
"She never can be idle. Isabelita, my daughter, entreat your mamma not to read! Now, you know that she does too much. When she is not reading, she is casting up accounts; when not casting up accounts, she goes down to the warehouse to make out bills; when not making out bills, she writes letters; when not writing letters, she speaks English with the Ricartes's governess. Hers is a wonderful head! I don't understand how she is able to do so many things in turn, without being either disturbed or fatigued."
I owe it to Doña Clara to say that she seemed suspicious of this panegyric, for instead of acknowledging it and showing herself gratified by it, she made the gesture of an offended queen.
"I do not disturb myself for such little things, dear, because I have trained myself in a manner different from the women of your province. If there they still go on spinning by the fireside, in the rest of the world they hold a more brilliant position. Here is a sailor," she added, indicating me, "who has travelled much, and can confirm this."
I bowed and murmured some courteous phrases.
"Well, all this does not hinder my admiring your ability," went on Retamoso in a tone of exaggerated adulation. "Does not all the world know it in Valencia? Am I to be the only one who does not, or pretends not to know it? How many women might be educated like you, and yet not have the capacity to accomplish in a month what you do in a day!"
"Tell me, Ribot," queried Doña Clara, addressing me as if she had not heard her husband, who went on murmuring flattering phrases, opening his eyes wide and arching his eyebrows to express the admiration which possessed him, "among all the many ports that you have visited, have you not met women with as much business faculty as men, or more?"
"I have known some women at the head of powerful commercial houses, directing with much wisdom, carrying on correspondences in several languages, and keeping their books with perfect exactitude. But—I confess freely that a woman engaging in industrial speculations, or inclined to politics or business, appears to me like a princess with a taste for selling matches and newspapers in the streets."
"What's this!" exclaimed Doña Clara, throwing up her Roman head. "Then you believe that the position of woman is nothing more than that of a domestic animal, caressed or beaten by man, according to his caprice? Woman should, in this view, remain always in complete ignorance, without studying, without instruction!"
"Let her be instructed as much as she likes," I replied, "but in my notion woman has no need of learning anything, because she knows everything——"
"Just so!" interrupted Retamoso with enthusiasm. "That has always been my opinion. Isabelita," he went on, turning to his daughter, "have I not said to you a thousand times that your mamma knows everything before having to learn it?"
I saw a smile flit over Martí's lips. Cristina rose from the piano where she had been sitting and went out of the room.
"I do not understand what you wish to say," declared Doña Clara, with a certain acerbity.
"Women who know how to make us happy, make happiness for themselves also. What other knowledge can equal this upon the earth? The toils of men, the callings conquered by civilization, go to achieve slowly and painfully what woman performs at once and without endeavor, making life more supportable, and alleviating its woes. Being, as she is, the repository of charity and of the gentle and beneficent sentiments, she guards in her heart the secret of the destiny of humanity, and transmits it by heredity and education to her sons, contributing to progress in this way more truly than ourselves."
"That is more gallant than exact," interrupted Castell, impertinently. "Woman is not the repository of progress, and has contributed nothing to it. You may study the history of the arts, the sciences, and the industries, and you will not find a single useful discovery that we owe to the genius or the industry of a woman. This demonstrates clearly that her mind is incapable of elevation to the sphere wherein move the high interests of civilization. Woman is not the repository of progress. She is solely the repository of being; and as this is the case, two things only ought to be demanded of her, health and beauty."
"You would be right," I replied, "if the unique phase of progress lay in useful discoveries. But there are others; and, as I understand them, more important ones—the brotherhood of man, the moral law. This is the true goal of the world."
Castell smiled, and, without looking at me, said in a low voice:
"For all that, I believe that I could name about fifty-seven other goals, if I know the world."
And lifting his voice he added: "I have discussed life with many men, and I can declare that scarcely one has failed to assign his own especial goal to the world. Among clergymen it is the triumph of the Church; among democrats, political liberty; among musicians, music; and among dancers, the dance. And yet the poor world contents itself with existing, laughing once in a while at so much folly, and trampling everybody under foot as it goes its way."
He paused and settled himself more comfortably in his arm-chair. I felt annoyed at those words, and especially at the scornful tone in which they were uttered. I was going to reply with energy, but Castell continued his discourse, tranquilly expounding his thoughts in a series of reasonings held together with logic, and expressed in elegant and precise fashion. I could not help admiring the varied qualities of his erudition, his penetrative talent, and, above all, the clarity and grace of his choice of words. Like submissive slaves, all of those in the dictionary came trooping to his tongue's end, to express his thoughts easily and harmoniously.
His theories seemed strange and sad to me. The world bears its goal in its own existence. Morality is the result of especial conditions that life has unfolded for itself upon our planet. If the human race had been produced under conditions of life like those of the bees, it would be a duty for unmarried women to deal out death to their brothers, as the workers do. All manifestations of life, even to the highest, are ruled by instinct. The virtuous man, like the degenerate, is moved by an irresistible impulse of his nature. Morality, which the religious man admires as a divine revelation, is nothing more than an invention destined to satisfy this or that instinct.
I really found myself without enough courage to contradict successfully his audacious assertions. My reading was wide, but desultory, as I had read more for entertainment than for instruction.
Then, too, I had never cultivated expression; because my profession did not require it, and I wrestled with great difficulties whenever I tried to express my thoughts.
Martí came to my aid, cutting off the discussion in a jocular fashion.
"Do you know what is the destiny of woman according to my brother-in-law, Sabas?"
All looked up, including the one spoken of.
"Sewing on buttons."
"I don't see why you say that," muttered Sabas, ill-humoredly, taking his pipe in his hand.
"Why shouldn't I say it? There isn't a man in the Peninsula who has lost more buttons than you! Yet I could not mention one of having gone to your house and not finding Matilde sewing on some."
Sabas muttered some unintelligible words.
"What does she say?" asked Martí.
"Yes, he loses enough!" said the plump lady, laughing.
But her husband, coloring, gave Martí a severe glance.
"If he loses as many as there are in the world," interrupted Doña Amparo, from her little red-satin elbow-chair, "buttons are not everlasting, and I believe that my son would rather go like Adam than trouble others to sew on his buttons!"
She spoke these words with emotion as if they were accusing her son of a fault.
"Although he loses more than there are in the world, it is a matter of no importance, and not worth while for you to put yourself out about, or be vexed with us," replied Martí.
"I am put out about it because it seems to me that everybody has a desire to find fault with my son. The poor fellow is always in disgrace. But until the day he dies his mother will always defend him!"
She uttered these words with even more emotion. I saw with astonishment that she was preparing to weep.
"But, mamma!" exclaimed her son-in-law.
"But, mamma!" exclaimed her daughter-in-law.
Both of them appeared contrite and concerned.
"Such is my maternal passion, my children!" went on Doña Amparo, struggling not to weep. "I cannot help it! We all have faults in this world, but a mother is not able to endure those of her children. I suffer horribly when anyone points them out to me, and much more when it is a member of the family. Some such sad ideas come into my head! It seems to me that you do not care for—I believe that I could die content if I knew that you cared as much for one another as I care for you."
Excess of emotion prevented her from saying more. She let her needlework fall upon her lap, leaned her forehead upon her hand, and seemed half ready to faint away.
Her daughter-in-law hurried to bring her flask of salts, and she began to smell it. Martí also assisted, with filial solicitude. Both showered a thousand affectionate attentions upon her, soothing her and making excuses. Thanks more to their tender words, I think, than to the salts, the sensitive mother recovered her faculties. When these were restored, she tenderly kissed her daughter-in-law's brow and seized Martí's hand, begging pardon for having offended them.
As I already knew a little of the character and whims of Doña Amparo, I was not surprised that Retamoso and his wife, Isabelita and Castell, paid scarcely any attention to this incident, and went on talking among themselves as if nothing had happened. Sabas, the cause of the disquiet, tranquilly smoked his pipe.
As soon as he had calmed his mother-in-law, Martí invited me to come with him that he might show me the room intended for me. It was luxurious and elegant, exceedingly luxurious it seemed to me who had passed my life in the narrow confines of a ship's cabin, or in our modest dwelling at Alicante. When we reached this room, a maid was making ready my bed under the señora's inspection. As we entered unheard she was herself smoothing the sheets with her delicate hands. Our footsteps made her lift her head, and as if she had been caught doing something wrong, she seemed annoyed, relinquished her task, and said to the maid with an ill-tempered accent:
"Well, you may go on with this, and see if you can finish it quickly."
She was going out, but her husband detained her, taking her hand.
"Have orders been given for bringing up cold coffee and cognac?"
"Yes, yes; Regina will stay and see to everything," she replied with some impatience, drawing away her hand and walking out.
I enjoyed her embarrassment with ill-concealed delight. As we went out again into the corridor I said to Martí, to make talk, and also out of curiosity:
"It seems to me that Doña Amparo was a good deal upset."
"You saw that!" he exclaimed, laughing in the frank and cordial manner that characterized him. "The least thing upsets her. The poor thing is so good! I am as fond of her as if she were my own mother. Her one desire is for us to love her. She is so sensitive that the least little sign of indifference, the smallest neglect, affects her deeply, and almost makes her ill. For that matter, although we all go on carefully, and are very attentive to her, it is not enough. Fancy this! I have taken up the custom of kissing her good-night before going to bed! If by bad luck I forget it for one day, the poor lady cannot sleep, thinking that I am vexed with her, wondering if she has offended me without knowing it; and next day she casts timid, anguished glances at me that I do not understand until my wife explains the enigma to me. I laugh, and go and smooth her down."
When we returned to the parlor, the company was dispersing. Castell gave me his well-cared-for hand, shaking mine, expressing with the careless coolness of a man of the world his pleasure in knowing me. Sabas and his wife showed more warmth. Doña Clara, majestic and severe, said good-night to me without mentioning Jupiter or Pollux, or any other pagan divinity, which surprised me. Retamoso improved a moment of confusion to say to me half in Galician:
"It may be that you are right, Señor de Ribot, and that women are not made for business. But mine is an exception, you know. Oh, a marvel! You have already had opportunity to be convinced of this. A veritable marvel. Phs!"
And he arched his eyebrows and showed the whites of his eyes, as if he beheld before him the Himalayas or the pyramids of Egypt.
Cristina took leave of them all from the head of the stair with the gracious gravity that suited so well her attractive face. I had eyes for nobody but her. Doña Amparo kissed everybody, kissed her son, her daughter-in-law, Doña Clara, Isabelita, and also, even, Retamoso. I do not say she kissed Castell, but I believe it was more from lack of courage than lack of inclination.
At last we four found ourselves alone. In order to prolong the waking moments, I begged Cristina to play on the piano a piece from an opera. She showed herself willing, and, without replying, seated herself on the piano stool, fingered the keys lightly for a moment, then commenced to sing in a half-voice the serenade from Mozart's "Don Juan." As I did not know of this accomplishment my surprise was great, but even greater my pleasure. Hers was a contralto voice, grave and sweet. The music of the great masters has always the power to move us, but when the voice of an adored woman transports the soul, music truly seems as if it had come hither from the heavens. I enjoyed for some moments a happiness impossible to describe. My very being was transformed, enlarged, quickened with love and joy. When the last notes of the lovely accompaniment died away, I remained swallowed up in a delicious ecstasy, scarcely knowing where I was.
Martí pulled me out of that abruptly.
"Come, come! The Captain is falling asleep!"
We all rose. Doña Amparo retired to her room, but not until Martí had kissed her hand, giving me at the same time a mischievous wink.
"If you need anything," said Cristina to me, "you have only to ring the bell."
And without giving me her hand, she wished me good-night. Martí accompanied me to my room, and took himself off, chaffing me affectionately.
"If you are not able to sleep without the smell of pitch, Captain, I will order a piece brought up and we will set it on fire."
When I found myself alone, all the impressions of the evening were loosed in my heart like imprisoned birds, and began fluttering about in a bewildering whirl. Why was I there? What did I expect? How was this going to end? The kind welcome and frank cordiality of this noble family moved me. The heartiness of Martí filled me with confusion and shame, but the lovely form of Cristina rose up before me, adorable, bewildering, blotting out all the rest. The thought of being so near her, when I had resigned myself to see her no more, overwhelmed me with felicity. I asked again and again, how would this end? At last I slept, kissing the hem of the sheet that her hands had smoothed.
CHAPTER V.
ACCORDING to my morning custom I rose first of anybody in the house, and went out to take a walk in the city. I had seen much of Valencia, and was always gratefully impressed by the quiet animation of her streets, her serene heavens, her perfumed balminess. Yet how different from those impressions was the sensation that I now experienced.
The beautiful city of the east was awakening from sleep. People began stirring in the streets; balconies were opened, and faces, pearl-white and with magnificent Arab eyes, were visible behind the flower-pots. As a morning greeting the gardens sent forth odors of pinks and gillyflowers, mallows and hyacinths; the sea its breezes fresh and wholesome; the sky its rays of radiant light. Valencia awoke and smiled upon her flower-gardens, her sea, and her incomparable sky. Her fortunate situation made me think of ancient Greece; and as I saw passing me the happy, peaceful, intelligent faces of her inhabitants, I longed to repeat the famous words of Euripides to his countrymen: "Oh, beloved sons of the beneficent gods! In your sacred and unconquerable country you reap the glory of wisdom as a fruit of your soil; and you tread stately evermore with sweet satisfaction beneath the eternal radiance of your skies."
I doubt if anyone, Greek or Valencian, was ever more content than I was at this moment. But as a sorrowful moment waits eagerly upon every joyous one in life, I was disappointed, on returning to the house, not to see Cristina. Martí and I breakfasted alone in the dining-room; and I learned from him that his wife had already breakfasted, and was in her own room.
What man was ever so gay, so affectionate as Martí? He began to tell of his family, his friends, and his projects exactly as if we had been friends all our lives. His projects were innumerable—tramways, harbor improvements, railroads, street widening, etc. I could not help thinking that for carrying out all these plans not only an enormous capital would be needed, but also an activity almost superhuman. Martí seemed to possess it. At that time, besides the steamboat traffic that almost ran itself and took up but little of his time, he was exploiting some zinc mines in Vizcaya, was building several wagon roads in several provinces, and was opening artesian wells in Murcia. In this last he had already used a large sum without getting much result, but he was sure of success.
"When we strike water," he said to me, laughing, "I intend to sell it by the cupful like sherry."
He expressed himself rapidly, incoherently at times; but always pleasingly, because he put his whole soul into every word.
I contrasted his confused and vehement mode of expression with that of his friend and partner, Castell, so firm, so clear, so polished. We spoke of him, and Martí outdid himself in eulogies of his personality. There was not apparently in all the world a man better informed, more talented, or upright. He knew everything; the sciences had no secrets for him; the planet hid no corner that he had not explored. He was, moreover, highly trained in the plastic arts, and he owned a collection of antique paintings, picked up on his travels, that was famous in Spain and in foreign lands.
"But—Castell is a theorist, did you know it?" he ended by saying, winking one eye. "We are two opposites, and maybe because of this we have been friends from childhood. He has always been given to studying the foundation of things, and their reason, philosophy, æsthetics. I don't understand anything of all that, I have a temperament essentially practical, and if you will not think me boastful, I will venture to say that in Spain there is a greater lack of useful men than of philosophers. Does it not seem as if there is a plethora of theologians, orators, and poets? If we wish to take our place beside the other countries of Europe it is necessary to think about opening ways of communication, making harbors, pushing industries, exploiting mines. In my modest sphere, I have done all that I could for the progress of our country; and if I have not accomplished more," he added, laughing, "do not believe that it is for lack of will, but for want of the precious metal."
"And Castell is your partner in these enterprises?" I asked him.
"No; we are not associated except in the steamboat line. He is a man who is fretted by figures. He is rich and wishes to enjoy his fortune tranquilly. But although he does not mix much in business, when there is any lack of money he finds it for me without hesitation, because he has full confidence in me."
"It seems as if this taste for business is in the family. Your Aunt Clara also shares this temperament," I said, to satisfy the curiosity that had pricked me since the previous night.
"My Aunt Clara is a notable woman of great talent. But I believe, without speaking ill of her, that the soul of the house, who has made all the money, is her husband. Oh, my Uncle Diego looks out for number one. There is no abler nor more prudent merchant on all the eastern coast. Believe me, anything he lets go by isn't worth stooping to pick up."
"Surely, according to what I have been given to understand by himself, it is the señora who guides him in difficult matters, who really holds the tiller in the business."
"Yes, yes," said Martí, smiling and a little out of countenance, "I do not doubt that my Aunt Clara gives him some good counsel, but not of necessity. In Valencia he is considered a bit crafty. It is possible that there may be some truth in it. You know the Galicians——"
He coughed to hide his embarrassment, and to change the conversation. I had already taken notice that it was repugnant to him to find any fault. He found himself on terra firma only when he was praising people, and he did this with such ardor that he seemed to taste a peculiar pleasure in it. Rare and precious quality, that ever made him more worthy of esteem in my eyes!
When we had finished breakfast, I pretended that I had occupations, and left him to look after his own. I went out into the streets again, and I soon encountered Sabas in one of the nearest ones. He seemed to me even more dried up and black than last night. He saluted me with grave courtesy, and after turning and joining me, urged me to accompany him to his house, as it was necessary for him to change his clothes. I was surprised at this necessity, as I could not see that he was damp or untidy. Later I found out that it was his custom to change his garb three or four times every day, following the elegant rules of court life.
Meantime, as we wended our way to his house, not far from that of his brother-in-law, he informed me that he had a collection of canes and of pipes—a very notable collection. It appeared that it was one of the sights most worthy a visit of any in the city, and with an amiability that I appreciated highly, he offered to show it to me. He lived in a charming little house. His wife came to open the door for us, to whom he said laconically:
"I have come to change."
We went to his room, and he at once proceeded to open the cupboards wherein he kept the canes. There were, indeed, a lot of them and of many kinds, and he exhibited them with a pleasure and pride that filled me with even more astonishment than their number and variety.
"You see this palasan; it has forty-two knots. It had forty-three, but it was necessary to take off one, because it was too long. Look at this other one, this violet stick." He stroked it. "Feel it. This one is of tortoise-shell. It is the real thing—a white one. It was brought to me by the captain of one of my brother-in-law's steamers."
The door of the room was half-opened and a little red head appeared.
"Papa, mamma let us come to give you a kiss."
"Run away; we are busy now," replied the father solemnly, dismissing the child with a gesture. But I had gone to the door, and I kissed with pleasure that little red head. He was a bright child of six or seven years. Behind him came another smaller one, red-headed too, and leading by the hand a girl of three or four years, dark, with great black eyes and curling black hair. I have never seen more lovely little creatures. I caressed them all warmly, and especially the little girl, whose velvety eyes were marvellous. But they were all timid, and without paying attention to my questions, looked doubtfully at their father. His face showed sternness and annoyance. He seemed offended that I found his collection of children more notable than his canes. He kissed them as if in compromise, and when his wife came running to find them, he said to her sharply:
"Why did you let them come in here while I was busy?"
"They got away while I was getting out a shirt for you," she answered humbly.
And pushing the chicks before her, she drove them from the room. After this I felt hopeful that her husband would terminate his exhibition of canes. He finished at last, and I, knowing that I flattered him, uttered a thousand exaggerations about his collection, which profoundly delighted him. He then took the liberty of dressing before me. His wife began to wait upon him like the most efficient and servile of valets. She put on his shirt; she put on his cravat; she got down upon the floor to fasten the buttons of his shoes. This happy husband let himself be dressed and polished off with a restrained gravity, meantime prattling about his canes and pipes, these collections being, it appeared, the aim and end of his existence. From time to time he reproved his meek spouse.
"Don't fasten it so tight! Less dressing and more rubbing on these shoes! Tell the maid that I wish her to take care not to daub my shoes. I don't care for that cravat; bring me a scarf that will tie!"
Finding a button off his waistcoat, he was struck dumb. He stared at his wife with a look so severe that it made her flush.
"I don't know how I missed it," she stammered. "It came off when the waistcoat was washed. I put it aside to sew it on. I was called to the kitchen, and after all I forgot all about it."
"Nothing, it is nothing! Of what consequence is one button more or less?" he said with a sarcastic smile.
"You know I am very sorry about it."
"Have I not told you it is nothing, madam? Why do you worry about it? One button, one button! What does one button signify compared to a bit of gossip with the laundress?"
"But, man, for heaven's sake, don't be like that!" she cried in anguish.
"Have I said anything?" he shouted, furious.
Matilde controlled herself and occupied herself with sewing on the button.
"How should I be? Say!" he persisted with unabated fury.
His wife did not look up.
Sabas then permitted several snorts to escape him, mingled with incoherent words, and accompanied by a gnashing of teeth that the sarcastic smile still upon his lips made even more repellent.
With heroic courage I tried to soothe his troubled spirit. The winds fell, the waves became tranquil, and he said to me affably:
"You are going to dine on a paella to-day. I know it already from Cristina. My sister has a cook who stews like an angel."
Matilde finished sewing on the button. When she lifted her head I saw tears in her eyes.
Sabas gave the signal for starting, but first he sent his good lady to find his gloves, to bring his stick, and then his handkerchief. He drenched it with scent from a perfume bottle, gave the last polish to his shoes, and a few touches of the comb to his whiskers. Matilde fluttered about him like a butterfly, arranging his coat and his cravat and his hat with her plump white hands. And when he, dismissing her, took her chin in his hand with a careless, protecting gesture her eyes shone with a radiant, triumphant expression that seemed to transport her to the heavens.
In the passage as we were going out we encountered the three children, who would have thrown themselves upon their father to be kissed, but he stopped them with a threatening gesture.
"No, I can't now. I should be all slobbered over."
I, who had no fears of being daubed, kissed them with pleasure, wishing to make amends to them for his crossness. Vain hope! They received my caresses with indifference, following with their eyes their elegant and morose papa.
Matilde watched us from the top of the stair, having eyes for nothing but her husband. She noticed that the collar-band of his shirt did not fit well, on account of his overcoat, hastened to pull it down for him and turn it up; and profited by the opportunity to give a few more touches to his whiskers with her fingers.
It was now eleven o'clock in the forenoon. The streets were full of people. The sun shone in the sky in all its splendor. We breathed a perfumed air, proving ourselves to be in the city of flowers. At every step we encountered servants carrying branches and sprays of them that loving ones were sending to delight their friends. In Valencia flowers make up so large a part of life, and their use is so general and natural, that the sending of flowers is like saying good-morning. Contemplating this profusion of carnations, roses, and lilies that rejoice the eyes and make fragrant the air, I could not help saying, "This is the city where there is so much that is lovely to enjoy that it matters little what one does with one's days!"
I could have gone about the streets with pleasure until time for dinner, but Sabas felt himself in duty bound to invite me to take an appetizer, and we entered a café in the Plaza de la Reina.
While sipping a glass of vermouth Sabas showed himself loquacious and expansive, but without losing his natural gravity. He talked to me about his family and friends. I saw at once that he had an analytical temperament of the first rank, clear perceptions, and a keen instinct for seeing the weak side of people and things.
His sister was a discreet woman, affectionate, of upright and noble intentions—but her character was excessively difficult; she enjoyed opposing people; at times she lacked courtesy; she was wanting in docility, in a certain meekness absolutely essential in a woman; lastly, although really generous, she did not make herself liked.
I should have enjoyed protesting against this absurd summing up. It was precisely these qualities of her character, at once timid and resolute, and her coldness a bit harsh, that made me more in love than ever. I abstained, however, for prudential reasons, from speaking.
His brother-in-law was, poor fellow, an industrious man, generous, intelligent in business—but absolutely incapable, as everybody knew. All the world imposed upon him and used him. He was of a temperament so volatile that as soon as he had undertaken one project he was tired of it, and thinking of another. This had made him lose a great deal of money. He could not tell how many enterprises Martí had engaged in. Some of them would have been very successful if he had stayed in them; but he scarcely encountered the first difficulties in them before he threw them aside, abandoned them. He had only shown himself persistent where it was absolutely useless—in the matter of the artesian wells. What a lot of money the man had already carried off and buried in that wretched business! The one thing that had really turned out well had been the steamboats, and these he did not start, but inherited them from his father.
His friend Castell possessed great learning, expressed himself admirably, and was immensely rich—but had not a scrap of heart. He had never shown any affection for anybody. Emilio was mistaken through and through in thinking that he returned the passionate, fervent adoration that he felt for him.
"But do not touch upon this point when you are again with him, as I have tried it several times. Whenever the conversation brings in the name of Castell it is necessary to open the mouth, roll up the eyes to their whites, and fall into an ecstasy, as if one beheld a divinity of Olympus. Castell knows this weakness of my brother-in-law, approves of it, and gives himself airs over it. For the rest, on the day when he has any need of him, he will see how the matter stands then."
"But Martí told me that he finds money for him when he needs it in his business," I put in.
"Yes, yes," he agreed with his sarcastic smile; "I do not doubt that he finds money for him, but everybody in Valencia knows the meaning of that."
I asked no questions. Having been admitted into the intimacy of the family, I would not prompt him. Sabas went on:
"This man is, moreover, vicious and immoral. He has been entangled for years with a woman who has borne him several children; but this is no obstacle to his bringing back a charmer with him whenever he makes a foreign journey. He has already had three, one of them a Greek, a beautiful woman! He keeps them a while and presently tires of them, like lackeys who no longer please him. This, you understand, makes a great scandal in a provincial capital; but as he is named Don Enrique Castell and owns eight or ten million pesetas, nobody wishes to offend him. The priests and the canons, and even up to the bishop, take off their hats to him a league off."
"I have been told of the wealth of your relations, the Retamosos!"
"Oh, no; that is a much more modest fortune; it is counted by thousands of duros, not by millions; but all that has been earned bit by bit, did you know it?—peseta by peseta, at first behind a counter, and then at a desk."
"Your Aunt Clara, it seems, is a lady of much judgment in business."
Sabas roared with laughter.
"My Aunt Clara is an imbecile! She has never done anything in all her life, except speak English with governesses and show her classic nose in the Glorieta and the Alameda. But my Uncle Diego is the slyest Galician born in this century. He laughs at his wife, and he is capable of laughing at his own ghost. I do not consider that he has ability for any great enterprises. He has not, as I just said, the genius of affairs; but I assure you that, among those who handle small amounts, I have never known, nor do I think you could readily find, a more cautious man."
In this fashion my elegant friend continued his studies of his family with a criticism implacable, yet clever and at times witty. From that he went on to talk about his native city; and I found his observations concerning the character of the Valencians, their customs, politics, and administration of provincial affairs, sharp and to the point. I confess that I had mistaken him. I had at first taken him for a mere coxcomb, a vapid and frivolous young man. He turned out to be a man of good understanding, observing and clever, although a little exaggerated in his analyses, and sufficiently severe.
We went out of the café, and before going to the house, we took another turn in the streets. Naturally, as I am a native of the east coast, son of a sailor, and myself a sailor, the aspect of the great Mediterranean city had an especial seduction for me. The narrow streets, tortuous, clean, with their profusion of fine shops; the large number of ancient stone houses with artistic façades, belonging to noble families that have made their names known and respected throughout the world; the hill towers, among whose turrets one may imagine still flit the old-time archers; the bridges with their benches; the Lonja, whose rooms of exceptional size and beauty shelter the richest traders of Spain; the lively market-place and open space about—all reveal, together with her mercantile traditions, an ancient and opulent capital. All spoke to me of the grandeur of my race.
I gave myself into the hands of my companion, who took me to the flower-market. We were not long in penetrating an iron-walled passage where, on one side and the other, leaving space in the middle, was seen a multitude of pale, black-eyed women exhibiting their merchandise—carnations, roses, lilies, hibiscus, and iris. Great was the animation in this little place. Ladies, with their rosaries and mass-books in their hands, stood before these venders, examining their wares with liberal and intelligent eye, and bargaining everlastingly before deciding to buy. Gentlemen laden with branches and sprays were given numerous instructions concerning their arrangement. Servants and shop-girls also hastened to the stalls, took their little handful of flowers, stuck some of them in their hair, and leaving their bits of copper, marched happily away with others in their hands, to continue their tasks. With what enthusiasm they would look at their flower-fillets! With what pleasure they breathed their fragrance!
As we cruised among the stalls I observed that most of the flower-venders greeted my friend by name, smiling amiably upon him, and asking him if he had no orders to give.
"You are popular in the market," I said to him, laughing.
"I am a good customer, nothing more," he answered modestly.
And placing his hand on my shoulder, he pushed me towards one of the doors, where we stationed ourselves, somewhat retired and half-hidden among the foliage.
"This is a strategic point," he said to me. "You will see how many fine figures pass by here within five minutes."
And truly the ladies who entered by the other door, after making their purchases or giving their orders, went out by this one. They passed so near us that their dresses brushed us. My companion had a compliment or a pleasant word for all. Many of them knew him and greeted him; some paused an instant to respond with gracious repartee to his gallant phrases. I was surprised at the impudence with which this man, married, and understanding good form, thus paid court to women; and yet more that they accepted his gallantries without reserve.
I have seen many beautiful faces in the various lands where my wandering life has carried me, but nowhere so many, so delicate, of such opaline transparency of complexion, of such exquisite purity as now. Then, what eyes! The soul moved in their blackness and mystery as if yearning to enfold you in happy dreams—sweet, voluptuous, unfathomable eyes, that seemed to hold both love and death. From among the multitude of heads there was cast upon me a swift glance. It was she; yes, it was she! While still she was hid in the crowd, I knew it was she who approached! My heart began to beat violently. In a few moments she appeared. She was dressed in black, and wore a mantilla. In one hand she carried her mass-book and a rosary wound about her wrist like a bracelet; in the other, a bunch of carnations. She was with her cousin Isabelita, and both were accompanied by Castell. I cannot explain the sort of impression that man made upon me at this moment. My heart was constricted as if in the presence of great danger, and the vague antipathy he had inspired me with the night before was transformed into hatred. The violence with which this feeling was born within me surprised me, but I did not confess to myself the cause of it. I held it well in hand and forced myself to appear as agreeable as I could.
They seemed surprised when they saw us. Castell and Isabelita congratulated us on the excellent position that we had chosen.
"What doesn't this rogue know about the conduct of gallantries!" exclaimed the daughter of Retamoso, giving Sabas a tap on the shoulder with her book. And then, laughing, she blushed like a poppy.
"Come, cousin," returned Sabas, "at least you know that I haven't offered you any gallantries. But we still have time. You are got up with so much elegance that on seeing you I forget our family ties."
Isabelita blushed even more, if that were possible. Sabas persisted in his compliments. Castell came to his aid. Meanwhile Cristina glanced absently from one to another. I divined that it was to avoid meeting my eyes.
Sabas spoke to her:
"Little sister, aren't you going to put one of your carnations in my button-hole?"
"Why not?" she answered.
And handing her book to her cousin, she took the largest and most beautiful one in her bouquet and fastened it where he bade her.
Moved by a sudden impulse, and with a daring that I thought I had lost towards this woman, I said:
"And is there nothing for the others?"
"Would you like one?" she asked me, handing me one with a glance.
"No; I desire the honor of having you fasten it in my button-hole," I replied firmly.
There was an instant of suspense. She showed indecision; but at last picked out another carnation and hastily put it in its place. I thought I noticed (it may have been illusion, I do not know) that her hands trembled. Oh, Dios, with what pleasure I could have kissed them!
"And I? Do I not have my turn?" asked Castell then, bowing with an amiable smile.
"Oh, pshaw! we have already had enough of carnations," she said crossly, going on out of the door.
"I came too late," murmured the banker in some confusion.
"Would you like one of mine?" Isabelita asked him, timidly.
"Oh, with the greatest pleasure."
And he bowed smiling, and apparently delighted while the young girl placed the carnation in his coat. Yet I understood that he was disgruntled.
We all followed Cristina; and her cousin paired off with her, Sabas, Castell, and I walking behind. But we had not walked far when Sabas saw a charming shop-girl, and stopped to chat with her. Castell and I waited for him a moment, but seeing he was not likely to finish soon, we followed on after the ladies.
"This brother-in-law of Martí's seems to me a youngster of a good deal of ability," I said to my companion.
"As a critic?" asked Castell, laconically.
"As a critic?" I returned, surprised.
"Yes; he is admirably endowed with power to see the weak and strong sides of things, to weigh and measure, to compare, to penetrate the labyrinths of conscience. But these faculties are exercised upon others; it never occurs to him to apply them to himself. Thus all his analyses, criticisms, wise and pointed counsels, are wasted; and he is an absolutely fatuous and useless man. He has undertaken five or six careers, and gone on in none of them; he wasted his patrimony in gambling and dissipation; he martyrizes his wife, neglects his children, and he is at present living on his brother-in-law."
"A good panegyric!" I exclaimed, laughing.
"You will hear the same from all sensible people in town. This does not hinder him from being an agreeable fellow, popular and generally liked; and this is because his defects can scarcely be called public, but private vices."
We joined the ladies at last, and arrived at Martí's about the hour of dinner. My hosts had invited in my honor the company of the night before, all of them with the exception of Castell being members of the family. Emilio made me sit at his wife's right. The touch of her dress, the perfume that floated from her, and a yet more mysterious fluid wherewith her nearness filled me, intoxicated and upset me. This went so far that, desiring to show myself gallant and attentive to her, I could scarcely say or do the most ordinary things. I spilled water on the tablecloth, I asked her three times if she liked olives, and dropped the olive-fork in offering her one. But I was happy, and I could not conceal it.
She showed herself courteous and a little more kindly disposed, thanking me for my attentions and gracefully covering up my blunders.
It made me even more happy when Castell fixed his glance upon the carnation in my button-hole, and asked me with his cold, ironical smile:
"Captain, would you take a thousand pesetas for that carnation you are wearing?"
"A thousand pesetas!" exclaimed Martí, looking up in surprise.
I was indescribably agitated, as if I had been surprised in the act of committing a crime. I knew no better than to smile stupidly and exclaim:
"How full of jokes you are!"
But Cristina held up her beautiful head proudly, and turning to Castell, she said:
"Captain Ribot is a gentleman, and does not sell the flowers that a lady bestows upon him."
"Ah, so she bestowed it upon you!" said Martí, and turning to Castell added: "But, Enrique, would you wish Ribot to sell you this carnation, when, if she had given it to me, I, although her husband, would not let you have it for your whole fortune?"
And at the same time he gazed at his wife with a look of intense affection. The innocence and nobleness of that man moved me. He must have touched the soul of Cristina. Dropping her head again, she murmured in intense tones:
These simple words were a poem of tenderness.
"It is well known," observed Castell with the same indifference, "that there are things in the world that cannot be and should not be bought with money. Unfortunately men are not in the same category with them, and therefore we pursue material and even gross objects until we secure them, however remote they may be."
"But I do not find them remote," said Sabas. "It seems to me that money serves well enough for almost all the cases that present themselves. Thus you hold another carnation to be better than this. This was given me by a lady. All right, Castell, I will let you have this one for two pesetas."
The company laughed. Cristina seemed vexed and said to her brother:
"You are rude; you are a clodhopper. Matilde, do me the favor of taking the carnation away from that pig. After that, he shall not keep it."
Sabas covered it up with his hands.
"Wait a bit, my girl, wait a bit. If Castell pays the two pesetas, I'll give it up. Until then we do not separate, no!"
"Here it is!" said Castell, taking the money out of his pocket-book and passing it across the table.
"There—go!" said Sabas, passing over the carnation.
This jest produced a shout at the table. Yet it did not please Cristina. She was furious, and called her brother names, and vowed that she would never give him another flower as long as she lived.
Meanwhile I had had time to recover from the extreme agitation that the words of Castell had caused me. We finished dining gayly, but Cristina did not again appear smiling and cordial as before.
Two hours later I took the train for Barcelona, where my presence was indispensable. I was accompanied to the station by Martí and Sabas. Martí made me promise another and a longer visit.
"After my next voyage," I told him, "I am thinking of asking the company's permission to stop at home when they change the order of time for the ships, six weeks hence. Then I will come down from Alicante and spend a week or a fortnight with you."
"We shall see if you are a man of your word," he replied, squeezing my hand affectionately until it was time for me to take the train and be off.
CHAPTER VI.
I DO not know what relation exists between salt water and love, but experience has made me realize that there exists in it some mysterious and stimulating virtue. On land I am able to control somewhat my most vehement sentiments and conquer them. Once on board I am a lost man. The most insignificant attraction takes on gigantic proportions and in a little while knocks me flat. So it happened that while in Valencia I proposed to myself to make nothing of flattering invitations, and never again in my life to return to stand before Doña Cristina, continuing in this commendable resolution until I left Barcelona, no sooner did I find myself afloat than it vanished like the mist, and seemed to me a veritable absurdity.
It was from Hamburg that I wrote to the shipping house, asking permission to remain over one voyage at home, to arrange certain family affairs. Meanwhile it had come about that I was not able to think of anything but the wife of Martí. Not even in dreams did she leave my mind; every word she had spoken sounded ceaselessly in my ears, as if I had in my brain a phonograph charged with conversations, and in my heart I felt every one of her gestures and movements. On returning towards Valencia the delight of thinking that soon I was going to enjoy a sight of my idol produced in me a sentiment of mingled shame and remorse. I feared a disdainful reception from her, and I feared also an affectionate and cordial one from her husband.
I did not intend to lodge in his house, to hush my noisy conscience. After spending six days in Alicante, I went to Valencia with a friend who chanced along, and made him an excuse for not going to the house of Martí. I did not go directly to see him, preferring to go later. I went out first to take a walk in the streets. But while walking through one of the principal streets, I saw not far distant three ladies looking at the fashions in a shop-window.
As I drew near I perceived that one of them was Cristina, and the other two, Doña Clara and Doña Amparo. I hastened up to them, and saluted them standing behind them. (How could I do such a thing?)
Cristina turned her head; and, as if she had seen something alarming, she gave a cry and ran forward hastily a few steps. My astonishment was great and the surprise of these ladies was scarcely less. Perceiving at once the strangeness of her conduct, and as if ashamed, she turned and came and welcomed me with unusual amiability. She explained her cry and her flight by declaring that a few moments ago she had given a bit of alms to a poor creature who had been a criminal, and all at once, without knowing why, it seemed to her as if he had followed them and was going to attack her. Doña Amparo and Doña Clara were satisfied with this, and laid her attack of nerves to her condition; they wished her to come into a shop and take a quieting draught, but Cristina said no.
I knew better than this, and walked on with them, saddened because I knew.
Martí received me with lively delight, professing to be vexed with me because I had not sought the hospitality of his house; but I, fortified by my excuse, held fast, and would not give in. Sabas also showed pleasure at seeing me. I could not do less than offer him my compassion on seeing in his face traces plainer than ever of his arduous labors beneath the sun. The result of these, by what I could gather, was the acquisition of an amber mouthpiece with his initials engraved upon it, of which he was so proud that it seemed as if all the vigils and anxieties that it had cost him had been well spent.
It was not necessary to inquire what impression my arrival made upon Castell. His cold, ceremonious courtesy made unnecessary any inquiries of that sort. Really it seemed to me that the lightly disdainful attitude that he held towards all the world was a little emphasized towards me. Perhaps I was ill-tempered, but a secret instinct warned me that this man hated me, and I paid him in his own coin.
Cristina was now quite advanced in her maternal expectations. Although women do not consider themselves beautiful at this time, except to their husbands, I found her more beautiful and interesting than ever, an indubitable proof of the depth of the affection wherewith she had inspired me. Her imaginary fears and her agitations at sight of me only increased it, and I credited her lack of courtesy to these imaginary fears. I noted that after the meeting she took pains not to look at me; but the very haughtiness with which she did it showed that some agitation ruled her spirit, and that I was not absolutely indifferent to her. Such was at least my illusion at the time.
Although I was not lodged in his house, the cordiality of Martí and my secret longing forced me to go every day to dine and spend some time with them. It was impossible for me to hide my love. At the risk of being observed (not by Martí, who was innocence personified, but by the others), I scarcely quitted the sight of Cristina. Whenever occasion presented, I made plain what was passing in my soul. If she dropped anything upon the floor, I was there to hasten and pick it up. If she glanced towards the door, I had already run to close it. If she complained of any ill feeling, I proposed all the remedies imaginable. In short, I showed to all concerned a lively interest and anxiety that came from my heart. She received these attentions with a serious face, sometimes with a certain diffidence; but I understood that she would not permit herself to take the slightest notice, and this sufficed me.
One day I grew more daring. Showing no such intention, I went nearer and nearer to her until my arm touched her dress. Then she got up brusquely and placed herself elsewhere. These silent rebuffs produced a melancholy impression upon me. But I was compensated by other enjoyments, fanciful, perhaps, but that did not hinder their being delicious. When we were sitting at table, although as I have said she took great pains not to look at me face to face, she could not help glancing about, and her eyes would meet and thrill my own. When this happened, I believed I could see that her face colored slightly.
Love did not wholly stifle my powers of observation. I mean to say that I loved the wife of Martí and studied her at the same time. I soon came to see and understand that beneath her rare and gracious mingling of timidity and ease of manner, of insistent happiness and supercilious seriousness, there existed in her a depth of exquisite sensibility, carefully and even ferociously guarded. The modesty of sentiment was so strong in her that any manifestation of tenderness caused it to retreat. She preferred to pass for hard and cold rather than that anyone should read her soul.
Unlike her mamma, who was delighted to receive endearments, and who kissed everybody, she never gave a caress to any member of her family, and avoided receiving one whenever possible. Her husband himself, when he found himself a little rebuffed, took it with his jolly shout, accepting everything with a laugh. In spite of this they all loved her dearly, and looked upon her coldness as a graceful oddity, with which it pleased her at times to snub them a little.
Because of her character, the least expression of affection from her lips had an inestimable value. But it was necessary to turn it off and pretend that it was not noticed. If it was observed and she knew it, all was lost. She returned at once to her brusqueness, cutting off gratitude with some ironical or disdainful speech. She also had the spirit of contradiction well developed; that is to say, she was wont to antagonize other people, not from pride or ill-humor, as I was soon convinced, but rather because of her great reserve, which made it repugnant to her to show the real strength of her feelings.
And with all this—an extraordinary thing!—there was never a creature whose features expressed more fully the movements and emotions of her spirit, even to the faintest shades of thought. Whatever dominated her for the moment, whatever stirred her, in spite of barred fortress that she sought to guard, was revealed in her eyes, in the changeful lights on her face, in all her gestures and movement.
Martí showed himself every day franker and more cordial towards me. This, it may be divined, made it possible for none but a villain to breathe in an enterprise against him. And I, who did not hold myself that, was embarrassed and saddened. We were inseparable from the first. Not only did we dine and take our coffee together, but he often insisted that I should accompany him while he was attending to his business; he soon made me his confidant and even asked me to give him advice. At last, after I had been five or six days in Valencia, he joyously proposed that we should thee-and-thou each other, and without waiting for my response began to do so with a cordiality that touched me. I experienced a mingled pride and humiliation, pleasure and pain; thinking how the confidence of this man brought me nearer his wife, yet held me all the more removed from her morally. I had occasion to prove this only a few hours afterwards. When we were again at the house, I, out of shyness, did everything possible to conceal that we had so soon adopted a new method of addressing each other. Martí made it plain directly. Cristina lifted her head surprised, looked at us both an instant, and dropped her eyes again, but not before I had, I believed, surprised in them an expression of annoyance. I guessed what passed in her soul.
Martí invited me the next day to visit his estate at Cabañal, where he had certain orders to give about the house and garden. The family was usually installed there by May, the present month; but this year, on account of the happy event that was expected, the moving out had been postponed.
We made the trip on foot, by the road and across the fields, in order to see the farms and gardens that lie between the city and the sea. I consented with good will, and at the hour for the promenade we started out upon our way, walking slowly until we reached the place.
My companion never closed his mouth after we came out of the house. The discussion of his affairs engrossed him to such an extent that he paid no attention to the delicious country, carpeted with flowers, whose white cottages seemed like doves alighted near us. Round about every one of the little houses with their sharp-pointed roofs grew a grove of orange-trees, pomegranates, and algarrobos. Beyond were cultivated fields with flowers and vegetables, some set with roses, lilies, carnations, gillyflowers; and others with strawberries, alfalfa, and artichokes. Running about among them on the well-beaten paths were beautiful brunette children, who stopped to gaze at us with their deep, dark eyes. The father of the family, bending to his task, would always lift his head as we passed and salute us gravely and silently, lifting his hand to his hat of coarse straw.
Martí did not see this, and scarcely the road we were walking on.
"One of two things! Either this business of the artesian wells will turn out well, in which case I not only hope soon to get a return on the capital employed, but I shall also make a good income for myself and my heirs; or it will turn out badly, and then it will look as if the capital were lost, but it will not really be so, because of my disposition and personal knowledge, trained and skilful in this class of work, which I think I should immediately use in making canals from a river in the province of Almeria, where there are great tracts of land that might prove very productive if watered, and which need only irrigation and ways of communication. It is a project that I have been turning over in my head for several years. You know well how much time and money it takes in Spain to get people together for this sort of business. Not only are directors, capitalists, and superintendents lacking, but even workmen who know how to carry out a certain class of works that I undertake. Well, whether the artesian wells turn out well or ill, I still have this knowledge ready at my command."
"That seems to me exactly the idea," I said, absorbed in the contemplation of the beautiful, variegated floral carpet that was spread before us.
"Yes, I think that's it!" exclaimed Martí, with emphasis. "But these ideas, friend Ribot," he went on, gayly flinging out his arms as if to embrace all mankind, "these ideas only come after some years of experience, and not even then unless one has practical sense and a vocation for business."
"Yes, aptitudes can be developed, but they cannot be acquired."
"There is my brother-in-law, Sabas. I make superhuman efforts to discover in him some ability, something he can do, and I only succeed in putting myself out. Whatever matter I confide to his care, even if I give him precise and definite instructions, he manages to knock all to pieces. It has got so tiresome that I leave him in peace and employ him in nothing whatever."
I could not help thinking that this punishment was not found very cruel by the brother-in-law, and yet it came into my imagination that he might have purposely provoked it as certain naughty children provoke it from their teachers, but I kept these and my other observations to myself.
"It is very different with my friend Castell. Of wide and penetrating talent, with a remarkable mind, immense learning, a profound knowledge of the sciences and arts, and even of mechanics—but from the first moment of application he is discouraged by the least scrap of an obstacle in his way. He is all obstacles and doubts and scruples. He loses heart before he begins anything and he has given up business. To carry out an industrial enterprise a knowledge of the matter is not enough; it must be studied; it is necessary that the one who undertakes it should possess an essentially positive mind—above all, that he should have, like me, an iron will."
Little by little we drew nearer to Cabañal. I have already described these shores of the sea whose great plain lies blue beneath the sun. We walked on enveloped in its light and breathing the fragrant air. The joyfulness of such a scene, serene and luminous as a picture by Titian, the idyllic bits that we came upon here and there, entered into the soul and overflowed it with a gentle felicity. In all this joy, this soft tranquillity, Martí with his beautiful, waving locks, his great, innocent eyes, did not seem to me so forcible a man as he wished to appear, not altogether of iron.
Before coming to the first houses of the village we turned off to the left. There at a distance was a white villa that Martí told me was his property. On the way I saw a curious plot of ground whose walls were made of perfectly symmetrical and equal-sized stones. These walls seemed to be in ruins, and through great openings I could discern certain structures, great iron pipes, rusted and fallen in pieces to the ground, wheels and other portions of machinery.
"What is this?" I asked, surprised.
Martí coughed before replying, pulled a bit at his shirt cuffs, and declared, with a gesture between peevishness and shamefacedness:
"Nothing—a factory of artificial stones."
"But it does not seem to be running."
"No."
"Whom does it belong to?"
"To me."
I shut up, because I understood how much the subject mortified him. We went on several steps without deigning to cast another look upon the abandoned factory, when, turning, he suddenly exclaimed:
"Don't imagine that I didn't know how to manufacture stone—all these walls are built of the products of the factory. Take up a piece of the stone and examine it."
I took up a piece, examined it, and saw that in fact it had, in appearance at least, all the necessary qualities of resistance. It gave me pleasure to say so. Martí explained that the failure of the factory was due to the scarcity of workmen. Valencia was a province that for centuries had neglected industrial for agricultural pursuits; it lacked hands. Then the manager had not properly filled his place; the increase on tariffs and freights, etc., etc.
The subject was undoubtedly vexatious to my friend. He spoke of it in a low voice, with a frown on his forehead, and he avoided looking at the unlucky factory. So in order to mortify him no more, I showed the least possible interest in all the rusting machinery, and went onward without bestowing another particle of attention upon it.
We came at last to the walls of his grounds. We entered them by a wrought-iron gateway, and crossed a handsomely laid-out garden to approach the house. This was a modest structure, but sufficiently spacious, and furnished within in considerable luxury. The furniture, suitable for the summer season, was simple and elegant. But that which roused my enthusiasm was the extensive park that stretched beyond, whose walls reached to the seashore, upon which it opened by a wrought-iron gateway. Formerly this had been a productive field. But first Martí's father and then himself had transformed it into a vast garden. Shady, gravelled pathways were bordered by orange-trees, lemons, pomegranates, and many other sorts of fruit-trees. Here was a little grove of laurels, and in the middle of it was a stone table surrounded by chairs. There was a grotto tapestried with jasmine and honeysuckle; yonder was a thicket of cannas, or cypresses, and in the centre a statue of white marble. And like a base for decoration, there was the azure line of the sea, into whose waves seemed ready to fall the oranges that hung from the boughs. The sun, that was already sinking, enveloped the garden and the sea with a sudden blaze of illumination; its golden rays were scattered over the white paths of the enclosure, made the whitewashed house resplendent, penetrated the thickets of cypress and laurel, lighting up the marble faces of the statues, and hung drooping from the branches of the trees like threads of the gold of waving tresses. At the right were visible over the walls the masts of little fishing boats with their simple rigging, and yonder extended the town of Cabañal in a rare and picturesque blending of fishermen's cots and aristocratic mansions wherein the grandees of the city came to spend the summer. More distant still was the port and the tall masts of steamboats.