The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 7

Her daughter-in-law hurried to bring her flask of salts, and she began to smell it. Marti also a.s.sisted, with filial solicitude. Both showered a thousand affectionate attentions upon her, soothing her and making excuses. Thanks more to their tender words, I think, than to the salts, the sensitive mother recovered her faculties. When these were restored, she tenderly kissed her daughter-in-law's brow and seized Marti's hand, begging pardon for having offended them.

As I already knew a little of the character and whims of Dona Amparo, I was not surprised that Retamoso and his wife, Isabelita and Castell, paid scarcely any attention to this incident, and went on talking among themselves as if nothing had happened. Sabas, the cause of the disquiet, tranquilly smoked his pipe.

As soon as he had calmed his mother-in-law, Marti invited me to come with him that he might show me the room intended for me. It was luxurious and elegant, exceedingly luxurious it seemed to me who had pa.s.sed my life in the narrow confines of a s.h.i.+p's cabin, or in our modest dwelling at Alicante. When we reached this room, a maid was making ready my bed under the senora's inspection. As we entered unheard she was herself smoothing the sheets with her delicate hands. Our footsteps made her lift her head, and as if she had been caught doing something wrong, she seemed annoyed, relinquished her task, and said to the maid with an ill-tempered accent:

"Well, you may go on with this, and see if you can finish it quickly."

She was going out, but her husband detained her, taking her hand.

"Have orders been given for bringing up cold coffee and cognac?"

"Yes, yes; Regina will stay and see to everything," she replied with some impatience, drawing away her hand and walking out.

I enjoyed her embarra.s.sment with ill-concealed delight. As we went out again into the corridor I said to Marti, to make talk, and also out of curiosity:

"It seems to me that Dona Amparo was a good deal upset."

"You saw that!" he exclaimed, laughing in the frank and cordial manner that characterized him. "The least thing upsets her. The poor thing is so good! I am as fond of her as if she were my own mother. Her one desire is for us to love her. She is so sensitive that the least little sign of indifference, the smallest neglect, affects her deeply, and almost makes her ill. For that matter, although we all go on carefully, and are very attentive to her, it is not enough. Fancy this! I have taken up the custom of kissing her good-night before going to bed! If by bad luck I forget it for one day, the poor lady cannot sleep, thinking that I am vexed with her, wondering if she has offended me without knowing it; and next day she casts timid, anguished glances at me that I do not understand until my wife explains the enigma to me. I laugh, and go and smooth her down."

When we returned to the parlor, the company was dispersing. Castell gave me his well-cared-for hand, shaking mine, expressing with the careless coolness of a man of the world his pleasure in knowing me. Sabas and his wife showed more warmth. Dona Clara, majestic and severe, said good-night to me without mentioning Jupiter or Pollux, or any other pagan divinity, which surprised me. Retamoso improved a moment of confusion to say to me half in Galician:

"It may be that you are right, Senor de Ribot, and that women are not made for business. But mine is an exception, you know. Oh, a marvel! You have already had opportunity to be convinced of this. A veritable marvel. Phs!"

And he arched his eyebrows and showed the whites of his eyes, as if he beheld before him the Himalayas or the pyramids of Egypt.

Cristina took leave of them all from the head of the stair with the gracious gravity that suited so well her attractive face. I had eyes for n.o.body but her. Dona Amparo kissed everybody, kissed her son, her daughter-in-law, Dona Clara, Isabelita, and also, even, Retamoso. I do not say she kissed Castell, but I believe it was more from lack of courage than lack of inclination.

At last we four found ourselves alone. In order to prolong the waking moments, I begged Cristina to play on the piano a piece from an opera.

She showed herself willing, and, without replying, seated herself on the piano stool, fingered the keys lightly for a moment, then commenced to sing in a half-voice the serenade from Mozart's "Don Juan." As I did not know of this accomplishment my surprise was great, but even greater my pleasure. Hers was a contralto voice, grave and sweet. The music of the great masters has always the power to move us, but when the voice of an adored woman transports the soul, music truly seems as if it had come hither from the heavens. I enjoyed for some moments a happiness impossible to describe. My very being was transformed, enlarged, quickened with love and joy. When the last notes of the lovely accompaniment died away, I remained swallowed up in a delicious ecstasy, scarcely knowing where I was.

Marti pulled me out of that abruptly.

"Come, come! The Captain is falling asleep!"

We all rose. Dona Amparo retired to her room, but not until Marti had kissed her hand, giving me at the same time a mischievous wink.

"If you need anything," said Cristina to me, "you have only to ring the bell."

And without giving me her hand, she wished me good-night. Marti accompanied me to my room, and took himself off, chaffing me affectionately.

"If you are not able to sleep without the smell of pitch, Captain, I will order a piece brought up and we will set it on fire."

When I found myself alone, all the impressions of the evening were loosed in my heart like imprisoned birds, and began fluttering about in a bewildering whirl. Why was I there? What did I expect? How was this going to end? The kind welcome and frank cordiality of this n.o.ble family moved me. The heartiness of Marti filled me with confusion and shame, but the lovely form of Cristina rose up before me, adorable, bewildering, blotting out all the rest. The thought of being so near her, when I had resigned myself to see her no more, overwhelmed me with felicity. I asked again and again, how would this end? At last I slept, kissing the hem of the sheet that her hands had smoothed.

CHAPTER V.

According to my morning custom I rose first of anybody in the house, and went out to take a walk in the city. I had seen much of Valencia, and was always gratefully impressed by the quiet animation of her streets, her serene heavens, her perfumed balminess. Yet how different from those impressions was the sensation that I now experienced.

The beautiful city of the east was awakening from sleep. People began stirring in the streets; balconies were opened, and faces, pearl-white and with magnificent Arab eyes, were visible behind the flower-pots. As a morning greeting the gardens sent forth odors of pinks and gillyflowers, mallows and hyacinths; the sea its breezes fresh and wholesome; the sky its rays of radiant light. Valencia awoke and smiled upon her flower-gardens, her sea, and her incomparable sky. Her fortunate situation made me think of ancient Greece; and as I saw pa.s.sing me the happy, peaceful, intelligent faces of her inhabitants, I longed to repeat the famous words of Euripides to his countrymen: "Oh, beloved sons of the beneficent G.o.ds! In your sacred and unconquerable country you reap the glory of wisdom as a fruit of your soil; and you tread stately evermore with sweet satisfaction beneath the eternal radiance of your skies."

I doubt if anyone, Greek or Valencian, was ever more content than I was at this moment. But as a sorrowful moment waits eagerly upon every joyous one in life, I was disappointed, on returning to the house, not to see Cristina. Marti and I breakfasted alone in the dining-room; and I learned from him that his wife had already breakfasted, and was in her own room.

What man was ever so gay, so affectionate as Marti? He began to tell of his family, his friends, and his projects exactly as if we had been friends all our lives. His projects were innumerable--tramways, harbor improvements, railroads, street widening, etc. I could not help thinking that for carrying out all these plans not only an enormous capital would be needed, but also an activity almost superhuman. Marti seemed to possess it. At that time, besides the steamboat traffic that almost ran itself and took up but little of his time, he was exploiting some zinc mines in Vizcaya, was building several wagon roads in several provinces, and was opening artesian wells in Murcia. In this last he had already used a large sum without getting much result, but he was sure of success.

"When we strike water," he said to me, laughing, "I intend to sell it by the cupful like sherry."

He expressed himself rapidly, incoherently at times; but always pleasingly, because he put his whole soul into every word.

I contrasted his confused and vehement mode of expression with that of his friend and partner, Castell, so firm, so clear, so polished. We spoke of him, and Marti outdid himself in eulogies of his personality.

There was not apparently in all the world a man better informed, more talented, or upright. He knew everything; the sciences had no secrets for him; the planet hid no corner that he had not explored. He was, moreover, highly trained in the plastic arts, and he owned a collection of antique paintings, picked up on his travels, that was famous in Spain and in foreign lands.

"But--Castell is a theorist, did you know it?" he ended by saying, winking one eye. "We are two opposites, and maybe because of this we have been friends from childhood. He has always been given to studying the foundation of things, and their reason, philosophy, aesthetics. I don't understand anything of all that, I have a temperament essentially practical, and if you will not think me boastful, I will venture to say that in Spain there is a greater lack of useful men than of philosophers. Does it not seem as if there is a plethora of theologians, orators, and poets? If we wish to take our place beside the other countries of Europe it is necessary to think about opening ways of communication, making harbors, pus.h.i.+ng industries, exploiting mines. In my modest sphere, I have done all that I could for the progress of our country; and if I have not accomplished more," he added, laughing, "do not believe that it is for lack of will, but for want of the precious metal."

"And Castell is your partner in these enterprises?" I asked him.

"No; we are not a.s.sociated except in the steamboat line. He is a man who is fretted by figures. He is rich and wishes to enjoy his fortune tranquilly. But although he does not mix much in business, when there is any lack of money he finds it for me without hesitation, because he has full confidence in me."

"It seems as if this taste for business is in the family. Your Aunt Clara also shares this temperament," I said, to satisfy the curiosity that had p.r.i.c.ked me since the previous night.

"My Aunt Clara is a notable woman of great talent. But I believe, without speaking ill of her, that the soul of the house, who has made all the money, is her husband. Oh, my Uncle Diego looks out for number one. There is no abler nor more prudent merchant on all the eastern coast. Believe me, anything he lets go by isn't worth stooping to pick up."

"Surely, according to what I have been given to understand by himself, it is the senora who guides him in difficult matters, who really holds the tiller in the business."

"Yes, yes," said Marti, smiling and a little out of countenance, "I do not doubt that my Aunt Clara gives him some good counsel, but not of necessity. In Valencia he is considered a bit crafty. It is possible that there may be some truth in it. You know the Galicians----"

He coughed to hide his embarra.s.sment, and to change the conversation. I had already taken notice that it was repugnant to him to find any fault.

He found himself on terra firma only when he was praising people, and he did this with such ardor that he seemed to taste a peculiar pleasure in it. Rare and precious quality, that ever made him more worthy of esteem in my eyes!

When we had finished breakfast, I pretended that I had occupations, and left him to look after his own. I went out into the streets again, and I soon encountered Sabas in one of the nearest ones. He seemed to me even more dried up and black than last night. He saluted me with grave courtesy, and after turning and joining me, urged me to accompany him to his house, as it was necessary for him to change his clothes. I was surprised at this necessity, as I could not see that he was damp or untidy. Later I found out that it was his custom to change his garb three or four times every day, following the elegant rules of court life.

Meantime, as we wended our way to his house, not far from that of his brother-in-law, he informed me that he had a collection of canes and of pipes--a very notable collection. It appeared that it was one of the sights most worthy a visit of any in the city, and with an amiability that I appreciated highly, he offered to show it to me. He lived in a charming little house. His wife came to open the door for us, to whom he said laconically:

"I have come to change."

We went to his room, and he at once proceeded to open the cupboards wherein he kept the canes. There were, indeed, a lot of them and of many kinds, and he exhibited them with a pleasure and pride that filled me with even more astonishment than their number and variety.

"You see this palasan; it has forty-two knots. It had forty-three, but it was necessary to take off one, because it was too long. Look at this other one, this violet stick." He stroked it. "Feel it. This one is of tortoise-sh.e.l.l. It is the real thing--a white one. It was brought to me by the captain of one of my brother-in-law's steamers."

The door of the room was half-opened and a little red head appeared.

"Papa, mamma let us come to give you a kiss."

"Run away; we are busy now," replied the father solemnly, dismissing the child with a gesture. But I had gone to the door, and I kissed with pleasure that little red head. He was a bright child of six or seven years. Behind him came another smaller one, red-headed too, and leading by the hand a girl of three or four years, dark, with great black eyes and curling black hair. I have never seen more lovely little creatures.

I caressed them all warmly, and especially the little girl, whose velvety eyes were marvellous. But they were all timid, and without paying attention to my questions, looked doubtfully at their father. His face showed sternness and annoyance. He seemed offended that I found his collection of children more notable than his canes. He kissed them as if in compromise, and when his wife came running to find them, he said to her sharply: