IN the afternoon I was with the family at CabaÑal as usual. MartÍ 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 MartÍ'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 CabaÑal, 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 cafÉ 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 MartÍ, 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 MartÍ. 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 DoÑa Amparo, Isabelita, DoÑa 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 CÆsar, 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 CabaÑal, 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 MartÍ 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 MartÍ, 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 MartÍ.

"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, SeÑor 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, SeÑor 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. DoÑa 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 AthenÆum 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!