The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 11

I shut up, because I understood how much the subject mortified him. We went on several steps without deigning to cast another look upon the abandoned factory, when, turning, he suddenly exclaimed:

"Don't imagine that I didn't know how to manufacture stone--all these walls are built of the products of the factory. Take up a piece of the stone and examine it."

I took up a piece, examined it, and saw that in fact it had, in appearance at least, all the necessary qualities of resistance. It gave me pleasure to say so. Marti explained that the failure of the factory was due to the scarcity of workmen. Valencia was a province that for centuries had neglected industrial for agricultural pursuits; it lacked hands. Then the manager had not properly filled his place; the increase on tariffs and freights, etc., etc.

The subject was undoubtedly vexatious to my friend. He spoke of it in a low voice, with a frown on his forehead, and he avoided looking at the unlucky factory. So in order to mortify him no more, I showed the least possible interest in all the rusting machinery, and went onward without bestowing another particle of attention upon it.

We came at last to the walls of his grounds. We entered them by a wrought-iron gateway, and crossed a handsomely laid-out garden to approach the house. This was a modest structure, but sufficiently s.p.a.cious, and furnished within in considerable luxury. The furniture, suitable for the summer season, was simple and elegant. But that which roused my enthusiasm was the extensive park that stretched beyond, whose walls reached to the seash.o.r.e, upon which it opened by a wrought-iron gateway. Formerly this had been a productive field. But first Marti's father and then himself had transformed it into a vast garden. Shady, gravelled pathways were bordered by orange-trees, lemons, pomegranates, and many other sorts of fruit-trees. Here was a little grove of laurels, and in the middle of it was a stone table surrounded by chairs. There was a grotto tapestried with jasmine and honeysuckle; yonder was a thicket of cannas, or cypresses, and in the centre a statue of white marble. And like a base for decoration, there was the azure line of the sea, into whose waves seemed ready to fall the oranges that hung from the boughs. The sun, that was already sinking, enveloped the garden and the sea with a sudden blaze of illumination; its golden rays were scattered over the white paths of the enclosure, made the whitewashed house resplendent, penetrated the thickets of cypress and laurel, lighting up the marble faces of the statues, and hung drooping from the branches of the trees like threads of the gold of waving tresses. At the right were visible over the walls the masts of little fis.h.i.+ng boats with their simple rigging, and yonder extended the town of Caba.n.a.l in a rare and picturesque blending of fishermen's cots and aristocratic mansions wherein the grandees of the city came to spend the summer. More distant still was the port and the tall masts of steamboats.

Marti showed me all the grounds, although without much pleasure or pride. Business, past and future, burdened him; he did not know how to throw it off. It was only when we came to a corner next the beach that he was enough distracted for a few moments to point out to me a summer-house in the Greek style that was admirably introduced into this smiling landscape. It was adorned within by carved furniture brought from Italy, statues and vases. It had a little lookout balcony towards the sea, and over the door was inscribed a name that caused me a slight tremor.

"The building of this summer-house was a thing of my wife's. That is why I had her name put over the door."

From thence we returned to the house by new and ever more beautiful and embowered pathways. Before reaching it, we came upon a little artificial hill, and, topping it, a bit of a castle. About it was a little pond of water, imitating a moat. We crossed it by means of a drawbridge, and ascended by a narrow footpath between hedges of box and orange, arriving at the top in the time that it takes to tell of it. The path, because of its artful windings, produced the effect of being measured by rods, instead of by inches. Over the door of the little castle was engraved another name that also made me tremble, although in a very different way.

"The idea of the little artificial hill was my friend Castell's, and, naturally, it bears his name--which is all the better that it exactly suits it," he added, laughing.

For me the pun had much less charm. Perhaps the antipathy with which the subject inspired me had part in this. We entered the diminutive castle and ascended to its roof. From there were admirably revealed not only the park, which did not seem so vast, but also a good part of the cultivated grounds, all the harbor, and the Puerto Nuevo and the grand expanse of the sea. Above its innumerable wavelets, above the freshness and dark depths of the water hung the crystal vault of the sky, dappled with delicate tints of rose. The sun flung a river of gold across the waves. Among the flowery fields and the fields of maize shone the little white cottages nestled among their oranges and cypresses. Beyond Valencia was Miguelete, and in the distance the encircling mountains, that at this hour seemed all of violet and mauve and lilac.

"What is this hut?" I asked, disagreeably impressed by the sight of an ugly brick structure which reared itself up on the confines of the park.

"Nothing--that was an attempt at a beer manufactory," replied Marti dryly.

And again his brow was furrowed by the frown.

"And did it not get to the making of it?"

"Yes, there was some made. It turned out badly on account of the quality of the water. The maker, whom I got here from England, did not explain this to me in time, and I was obliged to waste money enough uselessly."

Coughing perfunctorily, he pulled at his s.h.i.+rt-cuffs, ran his fingers through his hair, and hastily descended the stair of the little castle, followed by me. There was in every movement of this man when he expressed pleasure or annoyance so much heartiness, such childlike innocence, that I felt myself constantly more attracted to him. It seemed to me that I had loved him for a great while.

When we came away from his estate the sun was already setting behind the distant mountains. We made our way around the house, and crossed the grounds again and through the fields of maize, the gardens and orchards.

It was the hour of stopping work, and the laborers in the fields, with their Valencian kerchiefs about their heads, were resting at the doors of their cottages under the sweet fresh tendrils of vine-covered arbors.

Their children were climbing upon their knees and dancing about them while the mothers prepared the rice for supper.

CHAPTER VII.

When we arrived at the house, night had already fallen. The family was a.s.sembled 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 att.i.tude, his accents, and the furtive glances that the rich s.h.i.+p-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 a.s.sociate.

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 n.o.body 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! Ss.h.!.+ silence, keep the secret for the present, but I wouldn't have had two pesetas. Silence, ss.h.!.+"

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 s.h.i.+ning with grat.i.tude, 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 a.s.sent.

"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 Caba.n.a.l, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 amus.e.m.e.nts."

"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."