"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 noble family moved me. The heartiness of Martí 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 passing 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 gods! 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. Martí 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 Martí? 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. Martí 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 Martí 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.