“It is Malvasian, the first stock the Almogavars
brought here from Greece.”
Then he said in order to flatter the boy:
“It was a citizen of Valencia, Ramon Muntaner,
who wrote of the expeditions of the Catalans and Aragonese
against Constantinople.”
The mere recollection of this novel-like adventure,
the most unheard-of in history, used to fill him with
enthusiasm, and, in passing, he paid highest tribute
to the Almogavar chronicler, a rude Homer in song,
Ulysses and Nestor in council, and Achilles in hard
action.
Dona Cristina’s impatience to rejoin her husband
and to return to the comforts of her well-regulated
household finally carried Ulysses away from this life
by the coast.
For many years thereafter he saw no other sea than
the Gulf of Valencia. The notary, under various
pretexts, contrived to prevent the doctor’s
again carrying off his nephew; and the Triton
made his trips to Valencia less frequently, rebelling
against all the inconveniences and dangers of these
terrestrial adventures.
And Labarta, when occupied with the future of Ulysses,
used to take on a certain air of a good-natured regent
charged with the guardianship of a little prince.
The boy appeared to belong to them more than to his
own father; his studies and his future destiny filled
completely their after-dinner conversations when the
doctor was in town.
Don Esteban felt a certain satisfaction in annoying
his brother by eulogizing the sedentary and prosperous
life.
Over there on the coasts of Catalunia lived his brothers-in-law,
the Blanes, genuine wolves of the sea. The doctor
would not be able to contradict that. Very well,
then,—their sons were in Barcelona, some
as business clerks, others making a name for themselves
in the office of their rich uncle. They were
all sailors’ sons and yet they had completely
freed themselves from the sea. Their business
was entirely on terra firma. Only crazyheads
could think of ships and adventures.
The Triton used to smile humbly before such
pointed allusions, and exchange glances with his nephew.
A secret existed between the two. Ulysses, who
was finishing his studies for a bachelor’s degree,
was at the same time taking the courses of pilotage
at the institute. Two years would be sufficient
for the completion of these latter studies. The
uncle had provided the matriculation fees and the
books, besides recommending the boy to a former sailor
comrade.
PATER OCEANUS
When Don Esteban died very suddenly, his eighteen-year-old
son was still studying in the university.
In his latter days the notary had begun to suspect
that Ulysses was not going to be the celebrated jurist
that he had dreamed. He had a way of cutting
classes in order to pass the morning in the harbor,
exercising with the oars. If he entered the university,
the beadles were on their guard fearing his long-reaching
hands: for he already fancied himself a sailor
and liked to imitate the men of the sea who, accustomed
to contend with the elements, considered a quarrel
with a man as a very slight affair. Alternating
violently between study and laziness, he was laboriously
approaching the end of his course when neuralgia of
the heart carried off the notary.
