The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 14

"I believe you! When they don't kill themselves on account of money,"

exclaimed the young wife, showing herself a trifle annoyed.

"That kind have not wholly lost their senses, but there are many more of the first sort," he returned, laughing.

"Thanks, very much. And was she married or single--this one who interested him?"

"Married. It is said that he maintained relations with her during the absence of her husband, that his return was announced, and that then she, repentant or timid, made known to him her resolution to break off with him. The grief of Larra was so severe that he was not able to bear it, so he shot himself."

"But she did right, and he was very stupid to leave life when he was so young and when there are so many women to choose from and marry."

"He was already married," said Marti.

"He was married!" exclaimed the women indignantly and all together.

"And had several children."

"Then he should be quartered! He ought to be hung! The scoundrel should be cast out with the other refuse! It would serve him right!"

The wrath of the ladies made us laugh. Someone observed that she also was married, and that this fact had not seemed to irritate them so much.

"Because women are weak creatures. Because women do not run after men.

Because they are deceived by honeyed words. Because men rouse their compa.s.sion, pretending to be mad and desperate!"

"You are right," I said, to calm them. "The one who resists ought not to have the same responsibility, if failing at last, as the one who makes the attack. But coming to the concrete example of which we were talking, my opinion is that Larra gave more proofs of suicidal egotism than of high and delicate love. If he had really loved this woman, he would have respected her penitence, would have considered her all the more worthy of adoration, and would have found in his own heart and in the n.o.bleness of the adored being resources to make life worth living. But to leave life, to deprive his children of a father and his country of a true Spaniard, makes me, at least, think that he did not love his beloved for the lovable qualities heaven had bestowed upon her, but for his own sake."

The ladies joyfully agreed with me. This roused Castell's pride of wisdom; or perhaps he only gave way to his ever-present desire to instruct his fellows, believing himself infallible. He leaned back in his chair, and holding my attention by his little finger glittering with rings, delivered a complete course in philosophy. His was a well-linked chain of reasoning, elegant sentences, a great abundance of psychological, biological, and sociological facts--all to show that "man is irrevocably fettered to his own sensations;" that "no other sincere motive exists except that of pleasing them;" "the world is a battle without a truce;" "struggle is the inevitable condition for the preservation and upholding of the great machine of the universe," and so on.

"Without struggle, friend Ribot," he concluded, "we should return to the condition of inert matter. Combat trains us and strengthens us; it is the sole guarantee of progress. He who, led away by a mad notion, strives to suppress antagonism towards other creatures attacks the very root of existence and attempts to violate the most sacred of its laws."

"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed with emotion. "He would be mad, but I affirm that he would experience immense pleasure in attacking this sacred law. I should like nothing better than to get up some morning and smash it into bits. I have pa.s.sed the greater part of my life upon an element where this sacred law demands a fervent worship. In the depths of the sea the creatures devour one another with indefatigable devotion; the greater religiously swallow up the less. You may rest a.s.sured, Senor Castell, that the great machine of the universe will not suffer any damage from their sins. But I confess frankly that I have never become accustomed to these proceedings, wherein marine animals have the advantage over terrestrial ones. Some nights in summer, on the bridge of my boat, I have asked myself: 'Is it possible that man is obliged to imitate this ferocious struggle everlastingly, and be forever implacable to all who are below him? Will there not come a day when we will gladly renounce it, when compa.s.sion will rise above interest, and the pain that we cause not only to our fellow-beings, but to any living creature, become unendurable to us?'"

"Dreams, nothing more! Nor are you the first who has followed this chimera."

"Well, then, let us dream!" I cried, with more pa.s.sion than I suspected myself capable of, "let us dream that this sad reality is no more than an appearance, a horrible nightmare from which perhaps the human spirit will one day awaken. And meanwhile so much!--let every man manufacture his magic world and travel through it, companioned by love and friendship and virtue, by all those beautiful visions that make life joyful. For life, Senor Castell, however balanced and physiological it may be, is a sad and insipid thing when the imagination is not moved to adorn it. If capricious fortune should ever drag me, like Larra, into being enamored of a woman who belonged to another" (here my voice did not change in the least), "I should not perfidiously attempt to gain her affection away from her husband, to win pleasure or joy. At least, I should not hesitate to strike down my own joy pitilessly. I should rather try to make use of my poor imagination, as great Petrarch made use of his divine one, to love her, to keep her image sacred in the depths of my heart, to give her unselfish adoration; and my life, by contact with this pure love, would gain elevation and n.o.bility."

From the beginning of our talk I had felt the eyes of Cristina resting upon me. Now I saw her rise hastily and go to the piano to conceal her emotion. Dona Clara, Matilde, and Isabelita applauded. Emilio, laughing, threw his arms about my neck.

"What warmth, what enthusiasm, Captain! I am a man essentially practical, and not in the least able to argue with Enrique; but you have answered him, and said things very agreeable, and very fine, and, what is rarer, you know how to say them very well."

This was the truth, in spite of my modesty. It was the first and only time in my life that I felt myself an orator. And if in that moment the directors of the Athenaeum at Madrid had invited me there, I think I should not have minded giving in the capital a lecture on "The Future of the Latin Races," or any other topic however grand!

CHAPTER IX.

From that day her att.i.tude towards me changed materially. She showed herself less diffident and distrustful; she did not seek so carefully to avoid looking me in the face. When I entered she did not suddenly turn serious as she used. Little by little her freedom of manner increased, making her cordial, and affectionate too, within the bounds of her reserved temperament. Her delicacy hindered her from recompensing me in words for what I had uttered in her presence; but she used her ingenuity to find a way to make me understand that she approved of me.

One afternoon there was talk of certain things that had been bought and left forgotten in a shop. Marti wished to send a servant for them. She said with apparent indifference:

"Captain Ribot, do you not go through the Calle de San Vicento? Then do me the favor to get this parcel and bring it to me to-night."

I was overwhelmed with delight. At night when I delivered it to her she received it with more indifference than ever.

"Thanks!" she said dryly, without looking at me.

It did not matter. I was sure she had given me a reward. I felt happy and peaceful.

But next day, after this small bounty and grateful success, adverse fate had prepared for me a graver alarm than I had ever experienced in my life of peril and hazard. Neither when I ran aground in the Rio de la Plata, nor when the sea knocked away the bridge and half our masts in the English Channel, did I feel my heart so constricted by any sudden encounter. The agent to furnish me with this most cruel trial was Dona Amparo. We had been chatting in this lady's sewing-room, Cristina and I.

While they worked I had been turning over an alb.u.m of portraits of all of the family and many of their friends. I inquired, and Dona Amparo told me, who the originals were. Cristina remained silent.

"Who is this charming child?" I asked, gazing at the likeness of a little girl of ten or twelve years. "What beautiful eyes!"

"Don't you recognize her? It is Cristina."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, surprised. And, looking at her, I observed that she was crimson.

"She was then in school. Wasn't she very lovely?"

"Yes, I think so," I stammered.

"Mamma, don't say such absurd things. She looks like a picked chicken!"

exclaimed the one under discussion, laughing.

"Like a picked chicken!" cried the mother indignantly; "you were plump as possible. From that time you have done nothing but lose ground. I would give something to see you now as you were then. And Ribot will say the same."

"Senora," I murmured, although in confusion, "no doubt she was very beautiful at that time, but I think that the present is better worth while."

Cristina blushed more yet, and bent over her work serious and silent.

Her mother did not choose to drop the subject. I did not venture to contradict her openly; I only uttered monosyllables or phrases of doubtful interpretation. At last we gave up this conversation, so dangerous to me. We were told that the hairdresser had come, and Cristina went to her room.

I continued turning over the alb.u.m, and Dona Amparo went on moving back and forth the ivory needle of her lace-work. We preserved silence; but three or four times, on lifting my eyes, I observed that she was looking at me with irritating persistence. Finally I could see that she laid down her work, doubtless to look at me more to her liking.

"Ribot," she uttered in a low voice.

I thought it well to seem deaf.

"Tss! Ribot."

"What did you say, senora?" I asked, pretending to come out of my great abstraction.

"Look me in the face."

"How? I do not understand."

"Will you look me in the face?"

As I had not been doing anything else, this pet.i.tion would have been tremendously absurd if it had not been even more disquieting.