The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 25

"After you and I separated, she and I went along the acacia path to the pavilion, for the purpose of giving Cristina time to recover herself before going to the house. She found herself very much upset and did not care to present herself to her husband in that state. After we had been there a little while, Marti came unexpectedly. He was angry, naturally; sought an explanation with me, and in consequence I have left his house never to return."

"I knew nothing of it. Although I feel no obligation to give you any satisfaction whatever, since there is a question between us to be settled on other grounds, I will yet tell you that I did not speak one word to Marti about the affair. It rests with you to believe me, or not.

But it certainly surprises me that after having had an explanation with him, you should leave his house and now be talking with me as cordially as ever."

"It is very simple. I did not speak one word about what I had just heard."

"You have allowed him to suspect you of treachery?" he asked in the greatest surprise.

"Yes, senor."

"And why have you done so?"

"For my pleasure."

He cast a hostile, suspicious glance at me, shrugged his shoulders, and remained silent. I broke the silence after a moment.

"The pleasures of men, Castell, are as varied as their physiognomies.

However much you may have thought yourself in love with Cristina, I believe I was more. I adored her with all my soul, with all the powers of my heart. But to win her by treacherous means would, far from causing me joy, be the worst misfortune that could befall me upon earth. I should never sleep quietly again. I have made a cruel sacrifice, but I have made it for love of her, for the peace of my conscience. The tears that you see in my eyes now refresh my soul; they do not scorch it. I am going away, going away for good. You will remain, and perhaps time may bring it about that you can gain what I have so much desired; but wandering upon the sea, alone on the deck of my ship, I shall be happier than you. The stars of heaven shining above me will say: 'Be joyful, for you have done right.' The wind whistling through the rigging, the waves breaking against the sides will say: 'Joyful, joyful!'"

The light of the moon illuminated his face. I saw a smile gradually spread over it.

"These same waves that will say such agreeable things to you will think nothing of swallowing you like a fly some day. The winds will help them finish the task, and the stars of heaven will be present with all possible serenity. You are living in a profound error, Ribot. There is no other happiness upon earth except in possessing what one desires."

"Although to get it you stab a friend to death from behind?"

There was a moment of suspense, but he presently said firmly:

"Although to get it 'twere necessary to walk over men."

"There is neither good nor evil, then?"

"In life the good of some is the evil of others, and it will be so to the end of time. You may have seen some time a nest of swallows? The little ones wait anxiously for the arrival of the mother; she comes gently, opens her bill and, with loving care, feeds them one by one. How interesting! How full of tenderness such a sight! But the insects that have been destroyed and fall into the beak of the swallow to serve her in feeding her children--does the spectacle seem so tender and interesting to them? On the other hand, you see a man go stealthily up to another, knock him down with a blow, take the money out of his purse and carry it away to his house to buy bread for his children. How horrible! You shudder and hurry quickly away from such a scene. But why?

If you were an insect you would go along there buzzing joyously."

"But we are given a conscience."

"Conscience does not prevent us from being fatally fettered. You find yourself in love with Cristina, the same as I am; both of us desire her.

You are held back by fear of remorse, but I pursue my undertaking with no fears whatever. We both follow an instinct. Mine is more sane, because it tends to augment my vitality, while yours tends to diminish your strength. You need not laugh nor be so much surprised. Remorse in a world where necessity rules is absurd. Think you that the heroes of Homer and Aeschylus hesitated at fratricide or incest? Yet they were, nevertheless, the most n.o.ble examples of human kind."

"I am far from opposing you in augmenting your vitality," I replied, ironically; "but would it not be better that you seek a wife of your own, rather than another's."

"Another's, another's!" he repeated under his breath. "That is conventional, like all the rest."

He remained thoughtful for several minutes, looking out at the landscape through the window. I watched him with a mixture of curiosity and repugnance. Those blue eyes of his with their steely reflections inspired me for the first time with a sudden dread.

"The virtuous? Draupadi," he began saying slowly, without taking his eyes from the scene, "one of the most interesting heroines of antiquity had five husbands, all brothers. Those heroes enjoyed her love in common, without dishonor or remorse. If we lived in like simplicity, to aspire to Cristina would be moral and plausible; we should be offering a woman two new protectors. Why does it cause you so much horror to share a woman with a friend? The world began in that way and will end in that way."

"It may end as it chooses!" I exclaimed. "Now and evermore, it will be a sin voluntarily to cause pain."

"Don't be a child, Ribot," he replied with his irritating self-sufficiency. "There is only one undeniable truth in this world, and that is the common impulse of plants and animals, insects and man. In the serene region where life abides, everlasting life, sorrow and death, signify nothing. The one supreme end of the universe is to augment the intensity of this life."

I did not respond. I remained thoughtful and silent in my turn for some time, gazing out of the other window at the road. At last I saw the first houses of the suburbs.

"Will you have the kindness to ask the man to stop?" I said; "I wish to get out here; and to-morrow I leave Valencia without fighting with you.

Attribute this to cowardice if you like. It will be a new sacrifice for me to make on the altar of my love, and to the friendship that I owe Marti. I do not aspire to be a Homeric hero like you, nor dream of leaping triumphantly upon the bodies of my enemies. Will you stop?"

He gave me a big, contemptuous stare, and pulled the cord, saying coldly:

"I don't know whether or not you are a coward; but I can tell you on the spot that you are one of those people who are self-deceived, and live in delusions concerning themselves and the world about them."

The cab stopped. I opened the door and stepped out upon the ground.

"_Adios_, Castell," I said, without giving him my hand. "You may seek that happy region which I do not desire to know. I will remain in this other that is more sorrowful yet more honorable."

He shrugged his shoulders without answering, and turned his eyes away from me disdainfully, as he again pulled the cord. Then he leaned back comfortably. The carriage departed, and I began walking slowly towards my hotel. I followed the white highroad whereon scattering houses now cast shadows, until I reached the city's streets, and lost myself in their labyrinth.

In the Calle del Mar I found myself in front of the house of Cristina.

On her bedroom balcony grew a rose-mallow. I made sure that n.o.body saw me, then I climbed up to it and picked some of its leaves. I went to the hotel, and up to my room, and was soon sleeping sweetly with those leaves held fast in my hand.

CHAPTER XVI.

Once more the sea! Port traffic, the noise of loading and unloading, troublesome business in the consignees' office--afterwards lonely, tranquil hours lulled by the songs of the sailors and the murmur of waters against the keel! I did not let my dream of love weigh down my soul. At the end of several months, it remained a tender and poetic impression which gave reality to my existence. Yet when one night we pa.s.sed Valencia, and I saw the lights of Caba.n.a.l shining in the distance, I was surprised to find myself singing on the bridge in a low voice the farewell from "Grumete"--

"_Si en la noche callada_ _Sientes el viento!_"

And, without being able to help it, my eyes filled with tears like a sentimental female. But that soon pa.s.sed, and I soon recovered the joyous mood which seldom, thank heaven, forsook me.

I heard from a friend in Barcelona that Castell had married Isabelita Retamoso. Much good may it do! I learned from the same man that the steamship company, Castell and Marti, had gone to pieces, and that both partners were involved in a ruinous lawsuit. On hearing that, I could not refrain from exclaiming with exquisite delight:

"Ruined, it may be! but dishonored, no!"

My friend stared at me surprised, and it cost me not a little to evade an explanation. Did not some self-satisfaction enter into my pleasure? I am almost sure it did. I do not give myself out for a saint, and not even the saints are able to get rid of self-love entirely. At last, on my return from Hamburg, after one of my voyages, I found in Barcelona a letter that had been waiting for me several days. It was from Marti, although written in another hand. He told me that he was very ill, and in trouble, and invited me in extremely affectionate terms to come and make him a visit if it were possible. He did not explain what his troubles were, nor allude in the least to the misunderstanding that had been between us, perhaps not to let his amanuensis into our secrets; but the whole letter breathed of his hearty desire to be all right with me again, and to make me forget my unhappy departure from his house.

I took the train immediately for Valencia. I entered the city at nightfall, one year and three months after leaving it. I went to the hotel where I had then stayed. The hotel-keeper received me with cordial demonstration, and told me, without my asking, many details of the lawsuit between Castell and Marti. Marti was ruined. He had lost his directing share in the steamboat line, in which his partner still remained. Following that, to reimburse himself for capital loaned, Castell transferred Marti's credit. The creditors sold all his property at auction, including that at Caba.n.a.l and the house in the Calle del Mar.

"If, in spite of all this," said my host, "Don Emilio enjoyed good health, he could easily get up again, for he is young and he has a great head for business. But the poor man is very ill, very ill. I have not seen him for some time, but by all that I hear it is his last sickness."

These words made me very sad. It was dinnertime; but, although I went and sat down at table, I could scarcely take a morsel of food. I went out afterwards, intending to go to the house of Marti--he was living now in an apartment in the Calle de Caballeros. Before arriving I turned about, fearing to disturb him at that hour, or cause him any emotion that might hinder him from resting well. I directed my steps to the residence of his brother-in-law, Sabas, that he might prepare Marti, or at least advise me when it would be best for me to go to see him.

Sabas's plump wife, as lively, busy, and sweet as ever, received me with her usual affability. Her idolized husband had gone out.

"He is at Emilio's house?" I said, as the natural thing.

"No, I believe--" she hesitated. "You had better go to the theatre.

Maybe he is there. As the doctor found Emilio better to-day, he said that he would go and celebrate."