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Updated: June 14, 2025
Whenever the Mare Nostrum returned to Barcelona, Esteban Ferragut had always felt as dazzled as though a gorgeous stained glass window had opened upon his obscure and monotonous life as the son of the family.
In Berlin the name of Ferragut was the object of special attention; in every nation of the earth, the civilian battalions of men and women engaged in working for Germany's triumph were repeating his name at this moment. The commanders of the submarines were passing along information regarding his ship and his person. He had dared to attack the greatest empire in the world.
And this time Ferragut did not venture to ridicule the single-mindedness of his second. All the people of the Mare Nostrum showed great enthusiasm over the new business aspect of things. The seamen who in former voyages were taciturn, as though foreseeing the ruin or exhaustion of their captain, were now working as eagerly as though they were going to participate in the profits.
Ferragut, on taking the paper, recognized immediately her handwriting, although uneven, nervous and scribbled with great precipitation. Six words, no more: "Farewell, I am going to die." "Lies! Always lies!" said the voice of prudence in his brain.
The simple attempt at taking one of her hands always provoked her modest resistance.... "That, then...." She was ready to marry him; she wished to see Spain.... And the doctor might have fulfilled her wishes had not a good soul informed him that in later hours of the night, others were accustomed to come in turns to hear her romantic solos.... Ah, these women! and then, on recalling the finale of his trans-oceanic idyl, Ferragut would become reconciled to his celibacy.
We had to keep the Inca in our room in the hotel, and ..." Ferragut was not interested in the wanderings of the poor Indian monarch, snatched from the repose of his tomb.... One more! Each of Freya's confidences evoked a new predecessor from the haze of her past. Coming out of the beer-garden, the captain stalked along with a gloomy aspect.
The newcomer bowed, or, more properly speaking, doubled himself over at right angles, with a brusque stiffness, upon kissing the hands of the two ladies. Then he raised his impertinent monocle and fixed it in one of his eyes while the doctor made the introduction. "Count Kaledine ... Captain Ferragut."
His gestures of quiet protection were trying to console Ferragut for his failure. "Patience and tenacity!"... He had seen much greater difficulties overcome by his clientele. Before serving dinner he placed upon the table, in the guise of an aperitive, a fat-bellied bottle of native wine, a nectar from the slopes of Vesuvius with a slight taste of sulphur.
She guessed what Ferragut was going to say, his protest of eternal passion, his offer to unite his life to hers forever, and she cut his words short with an energetic gesture. "No, Ulysses, you do not know me; you do not know who I am.... Go far from me. Some days ago it was a matter of indifference to me.
Undoubtedly they had the same destination. As Ferragut began to greet them, the hostile dame deigned to return his salutation, looking then at her companion with a questioning expression. The sailor guessed that during the night they had been discussing him while he, under the same roof, had been struggling uselessly, before falling asleep, to concentrate his recollections.
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