In the afternoon I was with the family at Cabanal as usual. Marti did
not accompany us, having to attend to a certain business matter. (Did it
have to do with the five thousand pesetas that his brother-in-law had
lost?) At all events, I was selfish enough to rejoice at his absence.
During the trip out and the hours that we stayed at the place, I
observed something in Cristina's manner and gestures that made my heart
tremble with joy and hope. I cannot explain how, without her looking at
me nor once speaking directly to me, I felt overwhelmed by a celestial
happiness, but so it was. We passed all the afternoon in the
summer-house. The ladies worked at their sewing or embroidery. I read or
made believe to read. Cristina, affected by an unusual languor, did not
rise from her chair until the moment of leaving. While the others
laughed and jested, I saw that she kept silence and was grave although
without any apparent cause. Her face was slightly flushed. My
imagination suggested to me the idea that it was because of the thoughts
drifting through her soul and the timidity that they inspired. On the
dark and gloomy horizon of my life light began to dawn; so my heart said
to me. During that unforgettable afternoon, I was as happy as the angels
must be in Paradise, or the author of a drama when he goes out on the
stage to receive applause between the leading old man and young lady.
After dining at my hotel I went to take coffee at the Siglo, with the
intention of going thence to Marti's house. I encountered Sabas on
entering, his pipe in his mouth, seated among several of his friends,
whom he was haranguing in his own solemn and judicial manner. He saluted
me from a distance with a wave of the hand, and presently seeing that I
was alone, separated himself from the group and came to join me.
He was in a jovial mood and did not seem in the least cast down by his
folly of the day before, nor ashamed of it. We talked of our daily
excursions to Cabanal, and I described them as very lively and
delightful. He did not care to contradict me openly, but I understood by
his gestures more than by his words that he looked upon all that as
childishness unworthy a serious and mature man like himself. For one who
could appreciate them, Valencia held pleasures more highly flavored,
other fascinations; and he was sorry that I was out of them without
tasting them. He did not say what they were, but from what I already
knew, it was readily to be supposed that they had some relation direct
or indirect with roulette.
"Have you seen the famous stone factory?" he asked me in serious tones,
although his eyes gleamed with a malicious smile.
"Yes, I have seen it."
"A fine business! And also the celebrated beer distillery?"
"Also."
"Better business yet! isn't it?"
Then sounded in the depths of his throat a chuckle that could not be
uttered because at that moment he was earnestly sucking his pipe. I was
confused, as if he had said something offensive about one of my family,
and I responded vaguely that certain enterprises turn out well, and
others ill, and that their fortunes depend upon fortuitous circumstances
more than upon the intelligence and industry of whosoever undertakes
them.
"Tell that of others, but not of my brother-in-law," he answered with
sarcastic gravity. "Emilio's enterprises are always brilliant, because
his is a practical genius, essentially practical."
"He seems to me a very clever man," I remarked with some embarrassment.
"Not at all; not at all; I will not admit a bit of it. His is a
practical, and his friend Castell's a theoretical genius."
"We have already talked a little about that," I replied smiling, to
turn his scalpel away from the unpleasant subject.
"They are both geniuses, each one in his own fashion, the only geniuses
that we have in Valencia."
I did not know what to say. That sarcastic tone annoyed me extremely.
Sabas must have observed this, because exchanging it at last for another
more serious, he set himself to make, as usual, a careful and reasonable
analysis of his brother-in-law's conduct. It was something to see and to
admire, the gravity, the aplomb, the air of immense superiority with
which that man talked over others, the penetration with which he
uncovered the hidden motives of all their acts, the incontrovertible
force of his arguments, the sorrowful divination with which he
formulated them. It was such that I could not do less than acknowledge
to myself that every one of his observations hit the mark; but although
I knew this, I was both astounded and indignant while I listened. I
tried to hold the opposite side, but I could see that this only served
to make clearer the perspicacity and conclusiveness of his judgments,
and when I had taken my coffee and smoked a cigar, I got away from him.
"For all that," I said, shaking his hand, "I have no room for doubt that
Emilio is a very good fellow, and full of talent."
"Agreed!" he responded, returning the hand-shaking, "but confess that a
little common sense would be useful to him!"
I left the cafe angry and miserable. I was very glad to get away from
the sight of the dolt who had spoiled my morning. I directed my steps
slowly towards the house of Marti, but on the way my thoughts took a
sadly audacious direction. I was filled with a moral suffering, that had
since morning afflicted me; this, mingling with my flattering hopes,
made me so that I had not strength to mount the steps, and in front of
the door I turned about, went to my hotel, and went to bed.
That was for me a memorable night! As soon as I had put out the light I
understood that it was going to be long indeed before I could woo sleep
to come to me. A whirl of wild thoughts filled my brain, disordering,
agonizing. The lovely vision of Cristina came in the centre of all, but
did not succeed in calming their ardor, nor controlling them. In vain
fancy called up the scene of the handkerchief and that adorable face,
softened and moved, the sight whereof had made me happy all day long. In
vain I invoked the celestial felicity that sooner or later must descend
upon me. Whether it was illusion or reality, I thought that the fruit
was ripening, and already responded with delicate tremors to the
continued shaking that my hand gave the bough. Perhaps it would be long
in falling into my lap. But I ought to confess that this alluring
future possibility did not leave me peaceful and joyous as I had hoped.
I tried to become so by closing my eyes, but this did not do it. My eyes
were only the more widely open. My forehead burned my hand when I passed
it across it. I experienced a strange restlessness that obliged me to
change my position constantly. The curious suffering whose first slight
stings I had felt during the day, now pierced me fiercely and
intolerably.
This suffering was nothing else but remorse. To be really happy it is a
necessity that a man should be contented with himself, and I was not.
Another image, melancholy and grief-stricken, followed always after that
of Cristina in the interminable procession of my thoughts, disturbing
the happiness of which I had had a glimpse. It was that of Marti. Poor
Emilio! so good, so generous, so innocent! His mother-in-law wrung money
out of him and would have ruined him to support her son in his idleness;
his friend, whom he looked upon as a brother, deceived him; his
brother-in-law, upon whom he heaped kindnesses, ridiculed him publicly.
He had no heart near him that was loving and faithful except that of his
wife. And I, an outsider, to whom he had offered so much frank and
affectionate hospitality, I would snatch it away! The idea weighed down
my heart, made me feel myself disgraced. In vain I forced myself to
picture in lovely colors what it would be to be the lover of Cristina,
to taste of the intense pleasure of passion, and the joy of conquest. In
vain I tried to make my fault seem less by recalling to mind the
shortcomings of others. In my ears sounded ever a voice assuring me that
to go on would be to be unhappy. And my quivering nerves kept me tossing
between the sheets with my eyes ever more and more wide open.
The hours went by, sounding slowly, sonorously, and sadly from the
cathedral clock. I tried earnestly to shut my eyes and go to sleep, but
fiery, invisible fingers pressed open my eyelids. At last I bounced out
of bed, struck a light, dressed myself, and began walking the floor. And
when I had paced back and forth for a while, searching the most secret
corners of my heart, I understood what must of necessity be done. I had
recourse to chloral, more chloral than I had ever taken in nights like
this of sleeplessness and struggle. I renounced my desires once for all,
my hopes, the enjoyments of love and the flatteries of self-love. I
entered into my spirit with a lash and drove from it the perfidy of will
which, for the few pleasures that it gives us, causes us so many burning
wounds. This cost me labor, for it hid itself away in all sorts of
corners, obliging me to pursue it closely, leaving it no point to stop
upon. But at last I succeeded in driving it out in sober earnest, and I
stopped in the middle of the room, tired out, perspiring like one who
has performed some heavy task, but at peace. I undressed again, lay down
on the bed, and the winged god, son of sleep and night, bore me away in
his arms to the mysterious palace of his father.
When I awoke, the sun, already high in the heavens, was shedding its
golden rays upon the city. As soon as I had dressed myself I went
directly to the house of Emilio. The husband and wife were together in
the sewing-room, and with them were Dona Amparo, Isabelita, Dona Clara,
a dressmaker, and a domestic. The first question that was asked me was
where I had been the night before. I excused myself with a headache.
Cristina, who was embroidering near the balcony, did not lift her eyes,
but I noted on her face the same expression of gentle compassion that
she had worn during the episode of the handkerchief. And, too, while I
was talking with the others I saw that she stole a swift and timid
glance at me.
I improved a moment when all were occupied, and approached her. Drawing
the handkerchief from my pocket, and in a voice so low that the company
could not hear me, yet not low enough to make any secrets suspected, I
said:
"I have carelessly kept a handkerchief of yours, thinking that it was my
own. Until I got home I did not perceive my mistake. Here 'tis; take
it."
She lifted her head and gave me a look of intense surprise; her face
flushed a vivid carmine; she took with a trembling hand the handkerchief
that I held out to her, and again bent her brow over her embroidery
frame.
After that, tell me frankly if I have not the right to laugh at Caesar,
Alexander, Epaminondas, and at all the heroes of pagan antiquity in
general! At least I live in the intimate conviction (and this thought
makes me vastly greater in my own eyes) that if Epaminondas had found
himself in my shoes he would not have returned the handkerchief.
I turned anew to the group and joined the chat with animation, although,
perhaps, it was an excessive animation. My soul was profoundly moved and
it should be declared among these frank confessions that, although I
felt no pride in my heroism, neither did I experience that sweet content
that the moralists say always accompanies good actions.
I lunched with them and we went afterwards to Cabanal, where the
afternoon passed as merrily as ever. But my gayety was only feigned;
although I wore myself out pretending it, and to divert myself, I am
sure I cut a sorry figure.
Cristina did not care to hide her preoccupation. All the afternoon she
was thoughtful and serious, even to the point of making herself
remarked.
When night came, praise God! I would have opportunity to turn the key
that locked up my thoughts and weighed down my soul, and ease my pain a
little.
It chanced that Marti had brought from his library the works of Larra,
and he read to us, to pass the time, one of his most delicious pieces,
entitled "El Castellano Viejo." We all laughed and applauded the gifts
and ingenuity of the great satirical writer. From this we went on to
talk of his life and his tragic end in the flower of his youth, for he
was not yet twenty-eight years of age when he voluntarily quitted this
world.
"And why did he kill himself?" asked Matilde.
"For that which men usually kill themselves, for--a woman!" answered
Marti, laughing.
"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
compassion, 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 nobleness
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 passed 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 assured, 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 compassion 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 passion 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 nobility."
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!