The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 5

But the hope was not realized. Marti came alone, saying that his wife was fatigued and indisposed. I thought this a pretext, and it made me sad. Perhaps that first moment had exhausted her effusive grat.i.tude, and distrust and rancor had returned to her heart.

In less than an hour, Marti and I were excellent friends. He struck me as a sympathetic person, of open nature, affectionate, cheerful, and candid. The hundred affairs that occupied him did not leave him much time to give to any one thing. In his conversation he sped lightly from one affair to another, but showed himself ever wide-awake and energetic.

I let him talk, observing him with intense curiosity. The impression from that first conversation that best remains with me was his fashion of rumpling his wavy hair, running his fingers back through it after the manner of a comb, and giving a little cough when about to express some idea that he deemed important. This mannerism, which in another might perhaps seem ridiculous, had in him a gracious effect, boyish and attractive. I cannot clearly express the sentiments that Marti inspired in me at that time. They were an indefinable mixture of sympathy and repugnance, of curiosity and jealousy, which can be accounted for only by one who has found himself in a situation a.n.a.logous to mine.

The _Urano_ was to weigh anchor the next day at flood-tide in the afternoon. In the morning I presented myself at the hotel to take leave of my new friends. Marti and his mother-in-law warmly expressed their regret at my departure. Cristina did not make her appearance. She was shut in her chamber at her toilet, as I understood, and had not the kindness to have me asked to wait; on the contrary, she dismissed me so abruptly that she seemed to fear I might.

"_Adios_, Captain Ribot!" she called from within. "Pardon me for not coming out; it is impossible at this moment. May you have a most happy voyage; and again you have a million thanks from me. We can never forget what you have done. A pleasant trip!"

Marti urged me to breakfast with them, but I had much to do and declined. Moreover, I must confess I felt so melancholy that I wanted to get into the street. He, as well as Dona Amparo, offered me a thousand inducements to run down to Valencia on my return to Barcelona, where the steamer always stayed for eight or ten days. He, as well as his wife, would take great pleasure in entertaining me at their home. I was obliged to promise to do so, but with the definite intention of not complying.

It was always difficult to get away from the ship; and the coldness of Dona Cristina gave me no encouragement to make such a visit.

In the afternoon Marti came on board to press my hand once more before my departure. He again urged me cordially not to fail to make them a visit. Again I made the promise, with the mental reservation already mentioned. We finally bade each other a most affectionate farewell and I put to sea, continuing my voyage to Hamburg.

CHAPTER IV.

Not until I found myself on the bridge of my steamer, between the sky and the sea, could I take account of the impression that the wife of Marti had made upon me. How many hours I have pa.s.sed that way, in the solitude of the ocean, given over to my thoughts! Seldom have they been sad. My life, after the profound grief caused by the death of my fiancee, of which I have spoken, has generally had a tranquil, if not happy, course.

I was born in Alicante, my father a seafarer. In my school days I showed a fondness for study. My father would have desired me to become a lawyer or a physician; anything rather than a sailor. But I found such careers prosaic, and impelled by the romanticism natural to youth, and to my somewhat dreamy and fanciful temperament, I preferred that calling. My father agreed to this with apparent reluctance, but was, perhaps, pleased in reality by the appreciation that I showed for his own profession. I soon learned navigation, and made two voyages to Cuba. But my only sister having died and my mother feeling rather lonely, I felt obliged to stay at home and lead the life of a young gentleman of leisure. n.o.body was surprised at this. As my father was said to have ama.s.sed a reasonable fortune, I was to a good degree exempt from the hard law of toil.

A few years later I fell in love. My marriage was arranged and would have taken place had not Matilde, as she was named, been taken ill. Her recovery was hoped for, but hoping and hoping, the good and beautiful girl pa.s.sed from life. My grief was so intense that my health and even my reason were threatened. My parents could find no more adequate remedy than to send me to sea again. I agreed with indifference. Now I went as second officer in a steamer of the same company in which my father was employed. After a few months my father was crippled by rheumatism, and while he was undergoing treatment the owners placed me temporarily in command of the _Urano_. Unfortunately he could not resume his place; after dragging out a painful existence for some time he died. My mother would have liked me to forsake the sea and again live leisurely at home with her; but I had grown so accustomed to the sea, to the varied and active existence of the navigator, to-day in one port, to-morrow in another, that I could not be persuaded to forsake it. On board of my steamer, therefore, to which I had become greatly attached, I reached my thirty-sixth birthday. My mother died, and a little later the incident took place that I have just related.

I have said that when alone with my thoughts I comprehended that Dona Cristina had taken too much possession of them. Her image floated before me like a dream. That look, now grave, now roguish, of her black eyes; that impressionable shyness, her blushing like a schoolgirl in contrast with her gracious self-possession; then her facile forgiveness, and the repressed tenderness that she showed for her husband--all tended to idealize her. But more than anything, I confess, my own temperament contributed to this, and the solitude in which the mariner pa.s.ses most of his time. After the death of Matilde no true love had ever occupied my heart again. Idle affairs, adventures for a few days, amused me along various degrees of the scale. And so I had come to see the first gray threads in my beard and hair. But my romantic nature, although dormant in the depths of my heart, was by no means dead. The adventures in folly, the coa.r.s.e pleasures of the seaports, far from choking that tendency, encouraged its revival. I never felt more thoughtful and melancholy than after one of those affairs. To recover my equilibrium, I would stretch out under the awning with a book in my hands; filling my lungs with the pure sea air and opening my soul to the ideas of the great poets and philosophers, peace and joy would return. Reading has always been the supreme resource of my life, the most efficacious balm for its troubles.

The adventure with Dona Cristina transported me to complete ideality, and I breathed the atmosphere wherein I found myself most sane and happy. So I occupied myself with pleasurable thoughts about her, without considering that unhappy consequences might follow. Many a time, when a pretty young woman had crossed my path in port, I would afterwards tenaciously hold her image in my mind's eye. Again, in the solitude of the sea, fancy would evoke her, I would imagine her in diverse situations, I would make her talk and laugh, I would make her grow angry and weep, and would endow her with a thousand charming qualities. And in the companionship of this phantasm I would pa.s.s happy days, until on arrival in port it would dissolve or be replaced by another.

So now I attempted to do the same. But I could not succeed, even partially. Dona Cristina had not fleetingly pa.s.sed me by like many other handsome women. The impression that she had left with me was much deeper; she had stirred nearly every fibre of my being. Instead of representing her as I chose, I saw her as she had appeared in reality.

And again I felt the shame and the sadness that she had made me experience. On the other hand, her condition as a married woman deprived my dreams of the innocence that they had had on former occasions; it tinged them with a sombre shade that was little pleasing to my conscience.

I therefore determined to clear my mind of these thoughts. I sought to distract myself from such imaginings, to forget the beautiful Valenciana, and recover my peace. Thanks to my efforts, and even more to my prosaic occupations, I succeeded. But on skirting the eastern coast on my return trip from Hamburg, when I doubled the cape of San Antonio and there spread before my view the incomparably lovely plain that holds Valencia and surrounds it with its garden of eternal verdure like a brooch of emerald, the image of Dona Cristina appeared to me in form more ideal, more seductive than ever; it took possession of my imagination never to leave it again.

I do not know how it was, but the day after arriving at Barcelona I hastily adjusted the most important matters, left the ship in charge of the first officer, and took the train for Valencia. I arrived at dusk, went to a good hotel, dined, changed my clothes, and made the most careful toilette I had ever made in my life. Then I went out to look up the house of Marti.

Not until then did I take account of the folly I had committed. I well knew that Marti would receive me with open arms, and would be delighted at my visit. But what would his wife think of it? Would she not suspect that its motive was an interested one, and put herself on her guard? The idea that she might think that I sought payment in annoying gallantry for my service at Gijon was abhorrent. I was tempted to return to the hotel, go to bed, and leave the next day without letting anybody know that I was in Valencia. Nevertheless, an irresistible impulse pressed me to see her again. An instant, only for an instant, to engrave her image most profoundly in my soul and then to go away and dream of it through all my life!

Walking slowly I came to the Plaza de la Reina, the most central and lively place in the city. The night was serene, the air warm, the balconies were open; before the cafes people were sitting outdoors. And to think that there in Hamburg I had left the poor Germans shivering with cold! I took a seat under the awning of the Cafe del Siglo, as much for the sake of calming myself as to wait until they had finished supper at the house of Marti. When I thought it was time, I entered the Calle del Mar, which was near by. I followed its course, agitated and joyous, and stopped before the number that Marti had indicated. It was one of the most sumptuous houses of the street, elegant, of modern construction, with a high princ.i.p.al story, crowned by a handsome upper story. The great portal was adorned by statues and plants and illuminated by two cl.u.s.ters of gaslights. One of the windows was open and at that moment there escaped the lively notes of a piano. "Is it she who is playing?" I asked myself with emotion. I enjoyed the music for a moment, and at last approached the door. The porter called a servant, whom I told that I wished to see his master on urgent business. I was shown into the office. Marti appeared without delay. What a cry of surprise! what a cordial embrace he gave me! Then taking me through a corridor, speaking to me meanwhile in a whisper that his wife might not fail to be surprised, he ushered me into a room full of people.

"Cristina, here comes the bad man!"

She was at the piano. At the sound of her husband's voice she turned her head; her eyes met mine. She instantly turned them away and back to the piano just as quickly, as if she had seen something sad or alarming. But controlling herself almost in the same moment, she rose, and, advancing towards me with a forced smile, she extended her hand.

"I am very glad to see you, Captain Ribot. We are immensely pleased to have you visit us."

I felt my heart constricted, and I could not help responding with a certain carelessness:

"There is no occasion for such feeling. It is entirely casual. I had some business to look after in Valencia and on that account you see me here."

Marti embraced me anew.

"I am enchanted with the rude frankness of you sailors! That is just the way to speak! Away with these conventional lies that deceive n.o.body and simply serve to show what actors we are. The main thing is that we have you here and that your visit gives us genuine pleasure."

Then turning to the company he added, not without a certain emphasis:

"Senores, I present you to the captain of the _Urano_. I have nothing more to say."

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 Marti, 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 Dona 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. Marti presented me to her as his Aunt Clara, a cousin of his mother-in-law.

The entire company welcomed me most kindly, particularly Dona 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 Marti, 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. Marti 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. Marti 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 mult.i.tude 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 n.o.ble gestures that enabled him to display his hand, which was short and beautiful, and ornamented with rings.

Marti 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.

Marti 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.

Marti contented himself with shrugging his shoulders.

"Yet he had the a.s.surance 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,"

Marti 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."