"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?'"