When we arrived at the house, night had already fallen. The family was
assembled in the dining-room and the table set. Isabelita dined at her
cousin's, and Retamoso and Dona Clara were getting ready to leave
without their daughter. Sabas and Castell dined there also. We were
joyously welcomed, and all, except perhaps Cristina, attacked me with
questions concerning the impression that the country-place had made upon
me. I showed myself enthusiastic, not merely for courtesy, but because I
really was so. I enlarged heartily upon the enchanting situation, the
taste and care with which the place was laid out, the elegance of the
Cristina pavilion (I believe that I insisted too much on this point),
and I finished by saying that I should not find it unpleasant to spend
all my life there.
"In the Cristina pavilion?" asked Castell, with his ironical smile.
"Why not?" I responded boldly, casting a quick look at Marti's wife. She
seemed to be thinking of something else at this moment, but I divined,
none the less, that she did not lose a word of what I said.
"Then it's your taste to live caged like a canary. I also should like
very well to live in that way, but on condition that I should be taken
care of by a hand chosen by myself."
Saying this, he also looked out of the corner of his eye at Cristina,
who kept her face turned the other way, and looked terribly dignified.
"But I, who am not a sybarite, make no condition whatever," I returned,
laughing.
Marti slapped his friend several times upon the shoulder affectionately.
"As if we did not all know you, you old rascal! You would live in the
way you are talking about a fortnight perhaps. At the end of that time
you would be so bored with your cage, with lovely hands, and canary seed
that you would throw it all over."
Castell protested against this judgment, declaring that fickleness in
love depends not so much upon the temperament and its changes as upon
the vague but pressing necessity that we all feel to seek for the being
who can respond to our inmost sentiments, our most intimate aspirations,
our secret longings; or, to speak in more prosaic words, although less
clear also, those that adapt themselves exactly to our physical and
moral individuality.
"I have not found--like you," he concluded daringly, "among so many
women, the one who meets all the necessities of my being, many of them
unimportant perhaps, but none the less existent. If, like you, _or
before you_" (he uttered these words in a peculiar manner), "I had
chanced upon her, then certainly my career of gallantry had ended, and
you would have had no cause to call me, as now, an old rascal."
His attitude, his accents, and the furtive glances that the rich
ship-owner cast from time to time upon Cristina while he was talking,
confirmed me in the suspicion that I had conceived, whereof I have not
before had occasion to speak, that this gentleman was paying court to
the wife of his intimate friend and associate.
The effect of this dawning suspicion upon me was deplorable. I already
hated my rival; now to myself I called him false friend, traitor,
double-faced! But at the same time a voice cried out in my conscience
that I, though a new friend, was not perceptibly better. This voice
distressed me indescribably.
The talk went on, and Castell found occasion to say all he chose to
Cristina, as if nobody but herself could hear. His well-chosen words
admirably fitted the gestures, quick and speaking, wherewith he
emphasized them. Cristina talked with her mother, but by her evident
agitation and by the cloud of vexation which darkened her face I
guessed that she was listening to what Castell said, and that it was not
to her liking. In that moment, with a frown upon her forehead and a
proud expression in her eyes, she seemed to me more adorable than ever.
Retamoso, with his hat already on his head, came up to Castell, and
bending as if to speak in his ear, but in reality talking loud enough to
be heard by his wife, said in his attractive Galician accent:
"Senor Castell, you are in the right--like a saint! The question hits
the mark, hits the mark. If I had not had such good judgment in choosing
a companion, what would have become of me, poor fellow! What a
darling!--eh? What a treasure! Ssh! silence, keep the secret for the
present, but I wouldn't have had two pesetas. Silence, ssh!"
And arching his eyebrows and making up faces expressive of admiration
and restrained bliss, he moved away, shuffling his feet. His beloved
better half, who had heard perfectly well, gave him a sidewise look
which was not shining with gratitude, and turning up her hawk's nose,
she said good-night to us with imposing severity.
We were now all standing up and preparing to seat ourselves at the
table. Marti, observing that his piece of bread was a little broken,
exclaimed jestingly:
"Aha, I think I find here the footprints of my little mouse, don't I,
Cristina?"
She smiled assent.
"I suppose I'll be banished for picking at your bread, some day."
Then, as Marti turned to talk with Castell, I went up to the table
carelessly and, pretending something else, contrived to get a morsel of
the bread that Cristina had picked at, and ate it with inexplicable
pleasure. This did not escape her, and I noticed that her face took on a
slightly annoyed expression.
"Come, come to dinner, and everyone to his place!" she cried, with a
pretty grimace of vexation.
I obeyed humbly, and seated myself in my accustomed place. The dinner
was a gay one.
Marti was talkative and full of fun. As if he had not until then made
enough of the beauties of his estate at Cabanal, he enlarged upon them
with an enthusiasm that I had communicated to him on our walk. He ended
by proposing that we should go there afternoons for picnics, since
circumstances hindered the moving out altogether. It is needless to say
with what delight I heard this proposition. Cristina welcomed it with
pleasure, and also the others at the table. Sabas remarked, with his
habitual gravity, that perhaps he should not be able to go every day.
"No; we know already that we need not count upon you. It would not do,
would it--to throw over all business in the Plaza de la Reina and the
Cafe del Siglo?" said his sister, laughing.
"It isn't that, my girl!" exclaimed the elegant creature, piqued. "You
know that I am not particularly fond of rural amusements."
"Yes, yes, I know that you are one of the citified, and cannot breathe
except in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke."
Dona Amparo hastened, as always, to the rescue of her son.
"It will please me very much if Sabas does not go, for picnics always
disagree with his stomach."
"What would it matter to Cristina if I had to stay shut up?" exclaimed
the critic with an affectation of bitterness.
"Poor little thing! You get on admirably on late suppers at the club,
with olives and champagne."
Marti intervened and cut off the dispute between them, seeing that Dona
Amparo was already making ready to faint away. Everyone has his own
preferences in the matter of amusements and it was folly to try to
impose our own upon others. "Everybody has a right to be happy in his
own way," and if Sabas found himself happier under a roof than under the
open sky, he had no wish to disturb him.
"All that I beg," he ended by saying, "is, that although he is not to be
of the party, that he will let Matilde and the children come with us."
Sabas generously granted this petition, and all friction seemed to be
ended; but Cristina, who still wished to tease him a little, said with a
mischievous smile:
"Of course we understand that this means the afternoons when she has no
buttons to sew on."
"Cristina, Cristina!" cried Marti, half vexed, half laughing.
We all did all we could to restrain our laughter. Sabas shrugged his
shoulders with apparent disdain, but remained surly the rest of the
evening.
The next day and the days thereafter, without his honorable company but
with that of Matilde and the eldest of his children, we made our
excursions to Cabanal.
Marti and Castell's carriages took us thither directly after breakfast,
and brought us to the city at sunset. This time was spent chatting on
the upper balcony of the summer-house while the ladies embroidered or
sewed, or we went out into the park, where we played like children with
balls or hoops.
Sometimes we left the place and ran about the village or went down on
the beach, where we were greatly entertained by watching the fishing
boats coming in; at other times we directed our footsteps into the
country, visited some of the cottages, usually that of a certain Tonet,
an old servant of Marti's, who owned the little farm where he lived.
There we often rested, and his wife welcomed us with chocolates or
peanuts or served us some other refreshment.
But the important business of the afternoon was the picnic, or rather
its preparation. For it interested us that the picnic was spread and
eaten in the open air. We carried the alcohol stove and the rest of the
things to some distant and shady place in the park. The ladies put on
their aprons; the gentlemen, in shirt-sleeves, made chocolate or coffee,
or fried fish that we had just bought on the beach, and passed a happy
time. How happy I was when the party gave me the task of stewing up some
sailor's dish, and I went about among my scullions and scullionesses
with the stewpan in my hands, despotically giving them exact orders and
sometimes--who would believe it?--going so far as to forget that I was
in love!
Yet I was more and more in love all the time; there is no doubt about
that. Neither when I said to Cristina in an imperious tone, "Bring me
the salt!" nor, when I reproved her sharply for cutting the fish up into
too small pieces, did it even enter my imagination that a more perfect
creature could ever have existed under the sun. In the country the
supercilious severity that I had often remarked in her disappeared. Her
mood was gay, changeful, lively, and she invented a thousand tricks to
make us laugh, while from her lips witticisms flowed continuously. She
was the soul of our excursions, the salt that seasoned them.
I could not keep my eyes away from her. I listened to her and stared at
her like an idiot. Sometimes, though not often, she made me feel that I
was carrying water in a sieve. For example, one afternoon, standing in
the summer-house, she showed us a thimble that she had bought. Everybody
examined it, and I also after the others, then I contrived to keep it
without being noticed. A good while passed; nothing more was said about
the thimble. But when we left the mirador to go to our picnic she
crossed in front of me and said without looking at me:
"Put the thimble in this little basket."
It was of no use to be cunning and crafty with her. She saw everything;
she observed everything.
Another afternoon, when her sister-in-law Matilde was playing on the
piano and she standing turning the leaves of her music, I stole up
silently from behind. Pretending to find myself enraptured by the music
and looking closely at its sheets, I devoured with my eyes her alabaster
neck and the fine, soft hair, there where the black locks of her head
seemed to die away and be lost like exquisite music that melts in
pianissimo. Well, then as if she had eyes for seeing what was behind
her, she raised her hand to the neck of her dress and pulled it up with
a gesture of impatience. It was an admonition and a reprimand. But in
spite of her dumb rebuffs and reproofs and although she used seldom to
look at me, I felt myself happy beside her. And this was because in
these rebuffs and in the sternness of her countenance I found no
distaste for myself, nor desire to mortify me. Everything emanated from
a noble, if exaggerated, sentiment of dignity, without counting the
intense affection that she professed for her husband, of which she
constantly gave clear proof. Nor in this either was she unworthy the
exquisite delicacy of her sentiments. Instead of showing herself tender
and submissive towards him as so many women would have done in her case,
she shunned showing any fondness in my presence and, whenever it was
possible, avoided the caresses that he would have given her. Sometimes
he laughingly asked her the reason for such severity, but she remained
inflexible.
Of her sense of justice and the instinct that inspired it she gave
witness more than once, although it was always tacit. I had gone to the
house one morning. There was no one in the dining-room but herself and
her mother. She happened to ask for a glass of water. I took it upon
myself to anticipate the servant, went to the sideboard, took a goblet
and a little tray, and was about to pour out the water and serve her
when she interrupted me dryly:
"No, let it be. I am not thirsty now; it was a whim."
I was very much crestfallen, and even more saddened than humiliated. I
cut short my visit and retired. That afternoon I stayed at the _fonda_
and did not go to Cabanal as usual.
At night I went to the house when they were finishing supper, entered
with a stern countenance, and did not try to glance at her. But I saw
plainly that she looked at me, and I wished her to keep on until I saw a
humble expression on her face.
In a few moments she addressed me with unusual amiability, seeking to
make amends. I stood my ground rigidly. Then she said in a clear voice
and with a gracious smile that I can never forget:
"Captain Ribot, will you do me the favor to pour a little water into one
of those goblets and bring it to me?"
I served her, smiling. She smiled a little too before drinking it, and
my resentment was melted like ice in the warmth of that smile.
Castell was always one of the party on our excursions to Cabanal.
Sometimes, though rarely, he drove out alone in one of his traps.
I no longer doubted that he paid court to Cristina and had also observed
the love that I felt for her. But he owed it to his immeasurable pride
not to seem to notice a rival so little formidable; I could not see the
slightest change in him. He continued to treat me with the same refined
courtesy, not exempt from patronage, and--why should I not say it?--with
also a sort of benevolent compassion. It is true that Castell extended
this compassion towards all created beings, and I think I should not be
wrong in affirming that it went beyond our planet and diffused itself
among other and distant stars. As a general rule, he listened to nobody
but himself; but at times, if he were in the humor, he would invite us
to express our opinions, making us talk with the complacency shown to
children; listening, smiling sweetly at our nonsensical chatter and our
little mistakes. It was a regular secondary-school examination. When he
deigned to pry into my limited field of knowledge I could not help
fancying myself a microscopic insect that had by chance fallen into his
hands, that he twirled and tortured between his encircling fingers.
They all listened to him with great deference. Marti ever showed himself
proud of having such a friend, and believed in good faith that neither
in Spain nor in foreign lands existed a man to compare with him--in the
world of theory, of course, because in practical matters, Marti was all
there, as I knew.
But Isabelita, Cristina's cousin, listened to him with even more
absorption. It is impossible to imagine a more complete attention, an
attitude more submissive and devoted than that of this girl with a
profile like an angel, when Castell held forth. Her pure and pearl-like
face was turned towards him; she sat perfectly still as if in ecstasy;
the lashes of her innocent eyes did not move.
The one who took the least pleasure in the dissertations of the rich
ship-owner was, as far as I could see, Cristina. Although she forced
herself to hide it, I was not long in divining that the science of her
husband's friend and associate did not interest her. She often grew
absent-minded and, whenever she could find a plausible pretext, she
would leave the room. Can it be supposed that this lack of reverence for
a representative of science lowered her in my eyes? I think not!
I noted further that, although Cristina joined apparently the projects
of her husband, and never contradicted him when he discussed them with
his usual frankness before us, she showed lively vexation when Castell
encouraged them. When the millionaire, therefore, would begin a pompous
eulogy of Marti, praising in affected language his clear sight, his
decision and activity, Cristina's face would change; her cheeks would
lose their delicate rose-color; her brow would be knitted, and her
beautiful eyes would take on a strange fixity. Usually she could not
stand it to the end. She would get up and leave the room abruptly. The
good Emilio, intoxicated with gratitude and pleasure, took no notice of
this.
What a soul was that of this man, how noble, how sensitive, how
generous! Chance brought to my knowledge a magnanimous action that
raised him still more in my eyes. With the freedom that he had given me
from the first, I entered his private office one day unannounced at a
rather inopportune moment. His mother-in-law sat sobbing (for a change)
in an arm-chair, and he with his back towards the door was opening his
safe. On hearing me he turned and quickly shut the door of the safe. He
seemed a little more serious and thoughtful than usual, but the generous
expression of his face had not disappeared. He greeted me, making an
effort to appear cheerful; then turning to his mother-in-law and putting
one hand upon her shoulder, he said affectionately:
"Come, mamma, there is nothing to grieve about. Everything will be
arranged this afternoon, without fail. Come now, go to Cristina and rest
a little. You must not make yourself ill."
"Thank you, thank you!" murmured the suffering lady, without ceasing to
weep and blow her nose.
Recovering finally at least a part of her energies, she left the place,
not without giving me a strong, convulsive grasp of the hand and
drawing her son-in-law to the door for three or four kisses. He shook
his head and said, smiling:
"Poor woman!"
I gave him a glance of interrogation, not venturing to put the question
in words. Marti shrugged his shoulders and murmured:
"Tss! It's the same as always. Her son abuses the bounty of this poor
woman and it gives her a great deal of trouble."
As I perceived that he did not wish to go into further explanations, I
refrained from inquiries, and we talked of other things. But a moment
later Cristina came into the office, not in a good temper, and asked
him:
"Mamma has been begging money of you, hasn't she?"
"No, my girl," replied Marti, coloring a little.
"Don't deny it to me, Emilio. I have known all since this morning."
"Very well, what of it? The thing is not worth wrinkling this little
brow," he answered, touching it tenderly.
Cristina remained silent and thoughtful a few moments.
"You know," she said at last firmly, "that I have never opposed your
expenditures for Sabas. I have enjoyed your generosity towards all, but
your treatment of my brother has especially pleased me. Yet I have
asked myself sometimes, 'Will this generosity of Emilio have really good
consequences? Will it not encourage my brother to continue in his idle
and dissipated habits?' If he were alone in the world, he might indulge
in such luxurious ways without much danger. When he came to want, you
could, by reducing him to strict necessities, keep him on his feet. But
he has a wife, he has children, and I fear that they will have to bear
the consequences of your generosity and of the habits which, thanks to
your kindness, their father does not abandon. And, too," she added in
low tones that trembled a little, "at present we have no great
responsibilities, but we shall have them----"
"I believe you; we shall have them!" exclaimed Marti. "It looks to me as
if the first of them would not be many days in arriving!"
Cristina's cheeks colored swiftly. Emilio, changing his tone, went over
to her, put his arm about her shoulders affectionately, and said to her:
"You are right in this, as you are in everything that you say. You are a
hundred times more sensible than I am. Perhaps I should have refused
Sabas if he had come begging of me, because I am already a little tired
of his affairs; but your mother comes--when I see her crying--you don't
know how that moves me."
Cristina lifted to him her eyes shining with immense gratitude, her
face quivering with feeling; fearing that she could not control her
emotion, she suddenly left the room.
"Poor little thing!" said Marti, smiling once more. "She is very right.
Sabas is a bore."
"He gambles, doesn't he?" I ventured, because of the confidence that had
been shown me.
"It would be better to say he is skinned by sharpers. What a fellow! He
has lost, and promised to pay, five thousand pesetas."
"He promises it, and you have to pay it."
"Possibly. But what is to be done? It is not all his fault. He has a
mother who is too soft."
"And a brother-in-law who is too kind," I thought.
Marti put his arm across my shoulders, and we went thus to the
sewing-room to find Cristina and Dona Amparo. They were both there, the
first frowning and meditative, the other completely overcome by her
emotions. Matilde came in presently to breakfast with them. I perceived
that she was sad and seemed as if ashamed. Soon after two ladies dropped
in for an intimate call, and conversation cleared up the heavy
atmosphere of the room.
Cristina went out for a moment to attend to some of her domestic
matters, and I noted that she left her handkerchief forgotten upon her
chair. Then, with the dissimulation and ability of an accomplished
thief, I went over to it, sat down as if absent-mindedly, and when
nobody noticed, I took the precious object and hid it in my pocket.
Cristina appeared again, and I noticed that she glanced about at all the
chairs in search of her handkerchief; then she shot a glance at me, and,
I firmly believe, guessed from my manner that I had it. Then not daring
to ask me for it aloud and at the same time unwilling to give up and let
it pass that she allowed me to have it, she went about searching in all
the corners of the room, asking:
"Where can my handkerchief be?"
Nobody but me observed it, because all the rest were absorbed in
conversation. At last I saw her sit down in her chair, take up her work,
and go on with it in silence.
I went away to luncheon at the _fonda_, without accepting their
invitation to remain. I had a vehement desire to enjoy my precious
conquest by myself; for I considered it such in my mad presumption after
she gave over looking for it. Once in my quarters and assured that the
door was fastened, and that nobody could see me through the key-hole, I
snatched the kerchief from my pocket and gave myself up to a sort of
madness which even now makes me blush when I remember it. I breathed its
perfume with intoxication, kissed it numberless times, pressed it to my
heart, swearing to be eternally faithful, put it away with the pictures
of my father, took it out to kiss it, and put it away again. At last I
came to the end of all imaginable extravagances, better suited to a
young student of rhetoric than to the captain of a steamboat of three
thousand tons.