Glories of Spain Part 14

"We spent a quiet happy month together. I took up my abode in his house, not in the chateau. Everything was pursuing the calm and even tenor of its way. Every one was happy, and the return of the master made that happiness complete. They all hoped I had come to remain; but I found that could not be. I was unable to settle down to a quiet domestic life.

This home-coming had brought back all my loss, the happiness of days gone for ever. I felt I must seek fresh scenes, and soon departed again on my wanderings. This time they were not very distant.

"I crossed over to Algeria, and from the bright green slopes of the Sahel learned to love the white terraces and hanging gardens that contrasted so well with the matchless blue of the Mediterranean. That was not all that I learned to love.

"I mixed freely with the Arabs and the French of all cla.s.ses. Fate took me to Djidjelly. I wished to ascend Mount Bubor, and from its summit gaze as it were upon all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them. Here I committed the most rash, most impulsive act of my life. You will say it was impossible in one brought up as I had been. I have learned that nothing is impossible. Remember also my youth; that I was in a sense alone in the world; had never loved, never even thought of love. I will now tell you a secret hitherto locked within my own breast.

In a word, I married. Djidjelly has been considered almost impregnable, but no fortress can keep out the arrows of Cupid.

"I had been in the town for about a week, exploring the rocks and heights, picturing that terrible expedition two centuries ago, when the Kabyles brought Beaufort and his men to utter defeat. One day I had walked some ten miles into the interior. I was revelling in the perfume of one of the lovely groves that abound, when suddenly I came upon a vision of grace and beauty that absolutely dazzled and astounded me. It was that witching hour of evening when the sun nears the horizon and all nature seems sinking to repose. A perfect paradise of orange and almond trees, olives and pomegranates interspersed with the wild laurel, surrounded me. Never did paradise boast a fairer Eve. The declining sun threw deep shadows athwart the paths; branches and foliage traced fairy pictures of sunlight and shade.

"In this enchanting scene stood a young Kabyle woman, lovelier than anything I had ever seen before or have ever dreamed of since. She was about seventeen, but here, as you know, women develop early. Her form was perfect as her face. If she walked, her step was light and majestic.

If she ran, it was with the grace of the gazelle. Everything about her was harmonious. Her abundant dark hair crowned a small and shapely head.

Her eyes, large, dark and soft, flashed with sensibility and intelligence beneath pencilled eyebrows and long drooping eyelashes that almost swept her cheek. Her expression was one of singular purity and guilelessness. All the pa.s.sionate temperament of the East seemed to have pa.s.sed her by. Yet how purely, how fervently she could love. Over a silken robe she wore a haick or burnous of fine gossamer that fell about her in graceful folds. When her small coral lips parted they revealed the most exquisite of pearly teeth. Her voice was music. You will say that I am making her too perfect. This would indeed be impossible. I have never met any one to approach her either in grace of mind or beauty of feature.

"But Nature had been cruel. She had bestowed those matchless charms only to withdraw them too soon. I saw her and from that moment loved her: loved her for ever. There was no doubt or wavering in my mind. I approached her. She met me fearlessly, naturally, without thought of guile. To my delight she spoke perfect French, was evidently refined and educated. Her father was the proprietor of this little paradise. This meant that he was probably at ease in the world without being exactly rich. I quickly got to know him. Wooing in this part of the world is not a matter of months or years. Within a week of our first meeting, I was engaged to Arouya. Her father was only too willing to give her to one who was young, good-looking, above all had wealth at his command.

Almost immediately, without counting the cost or reflecting upon the mistake of a union with one of another race and religion, we were married. But all the reflection in the world would have made no difference. I was borne on by a mighty torrent against which there was no struggling.

"For six months I lived a charmed, enraptured, secluded life with Arouya, my wife. We were intensely happy in each other's love: bliss that is rarely given to mortals. It was not a mere life of the senses; her mind was wonderfully pure, bright and expansive. From the very first I laboured to convert her to Christianity, and with singular clearness she grasped and embraced all its profound yet simple truths: became deeply, devotedly religious. This only seemed to strengthen her affection for me.

"But it was not to last. Almost from the day of our marriage I felt the shadow of the sword. Our happiness was to be as fleeting as it was perfect. Arouya was already stricken with mortal illness. Consumption had set its seal upon her. Before we had been married three months she began to droop; at the end of six months she died. Died in my arms, blessing the hour in which we had first met. I laid her in her far-off grave, within sound of the sea, which chants her eternal requiem.

"I will draw a veil over my grief. For the third time in my young life I was heavily stricken. But I have learned to see the hand of mercy in the blow, and in time I lived it down. It was an episode in my life so romantic, so sacred, that I never spoke of it even to the good Abbe. You are the first to whom I have confided it. The secret is locked in my own breast--and in yours.

"I left Algeria and sought distraction from my grief by going farther abroad. I visited America, where I saw Nature on a gigantic scale. There I went through endless experiences and adventures. In the backwoods of the North I have spent whole nights watching for wolves, and heard their howlings on all sides. Often I have been sore beset. Many a tree have I climbed to save my life; from its branches shot many a tiger whose glaring eyes and deep growls told me one or other must conquer. But as in childhood, so in later years I seem to have carried about with me a charmed life. Many a time has my thirst been a.s.suaged by the monkeys, who in return for stones pelted me with cocoanuts. In the Indian jungle I have hunted lions, and once was surprised and sprung upon by a tiger that at that very moment was providentially shot by my servant.

Otherwise I should not now be here to tell you the tale. It was a narrow escape.

"In the vast prairies of California I delighted. Here I saw vegetation as I had never conceived it. Even the cedars of Lebanon paled before these gigantic monarchs of the forest. Loveliest flowers of gorgeous hues, wonderful tree-ferns, abounded. There was no limit to their wealth. Once, whilst here, the desire seized me to visit Hawaii--the Sandwich Islands as they are called: those wonderful volcanic isles of the Pacific. Beside them, everything else of a like nature fades into insignificance. Vesuvius, aetna, Hecla, these are child's play in comparison. The eight islands form a rich and productive chain.

"I embarked from San Francisco for Honolulu, and reached it after a run of sixteen days before the wind. Here I found much to repay me. The island is full of rocky spurs which form so great a contrast to the green plains of the interior with their clear flowing streams and endless forests. Vast craters are ever in a state of eruption: the largest volcanoes in the world: some extinct, others in a state of activity. One of these days I believe that a tremendous upheaval will take place and the islands will disappear. The mountain peaks of Hawaii, Mauna Kia and Mauna Loa, 14,000 feet high, with their eternal snows, would alone repay a visit. Perpendicular precipices 3000 feet high present a bold savage front to the sea, and looking at them you think that never before have you gazed upon rock scenery. The sandy sh.o.r.es have the loveliest, most perfect of coral reefs. The waters surrounding the islands are clear and brilliant with every rainbow colour. Here the world is a paradise; but its people, though harmless enough, are not angels.

"Kilanea on Mauna Loa is the largest of the active volcanoes. Its oval-shaped crater is nine miles in circ.u.mference and 6000 feet above the level of the sea. Within this a lake of fire is for ever burning and seething, moving and heaving to and fro in liquid waves of molten lava.

Imagine the tremendous, the awful sight. I was there in 1856 when it was in a very active state and continued so for some years. At night the spectacle was sublime beyond description. Herds of wild horses roam the islands. There is a curious bat that flies by day. Many of the trees are productive. The sugar-cane flourishes; the palm, banana, cocoanut and _ti_. The natives bake and eat the roots of the latter and thatch their huts with its leaves. The snow-clad hills are the most distinctive feature, here and there rising in overpowering ma.s.ses wreathed in fantastic vapours. Above these the clear blue sky rises in brilliant contrast and unbroken serenity. At sundown the white snow-tops flush a rosy red. Wonderful creepers interlace the trees of the forest, so that you walk under an endless magic roof of green, through which the sun at mid-day penetrates only in delicate gleams and patches. Gorgeous wild-flowers grow everywhere through the pathless woods. Birds of rare plumage flash from bough to bough, chattering and calling, but soulless in point of song. Everywhere one meets the pungent odour of wild fruit.

Here too I found orange and lemon-groves that almost rivalled those of my Mediterranean home. You have heard of those wonderful trees with their wealth of blossoms that live one day, changing colour three times in the daylight hours: white in the morning, yellow at noon, red at sundown--blus.h.i.+ng their life away.

"The heat of the days was intense, but at sunset a cool breeze would spring up, laden with the perfume of orange and lemon-groves. I mixed freely with the natives, a curious, superst.i.tious race.

"It was here that I first experienced the sensation of earthquakes. They are common enough in these volcanic islands, and unless violent, excite little attention. I had been travelling for two days. Suddenly I felt the ground as it were slipping under my feet. The trees about us swayed, the leaves rustled as though moved by a strong wind. In the air was a brooding stillness. We were not far from a tremendous volcano. An eruption was evidently about to take place. I had two or three native servants with me, and an acquaintance who was half a Frenchman and had settled in the island. The former were frightened and superst.i.tious, given up to the wors.h.i.+p of Peleus, G.o.ddess of the volcano.

"With difficulty we made our way to the mouth of the crater through the pathless forests surrounding it. Never can I forget the beauty of the immense tree-ferns that abounded. It was no doubt a rash proceeding, but at last we stood at the edge of the crater. We looked upon a vast lake of liquid fire. The sight was terrific, and made me think of Dante's most graphic pa.s.sages.

"All this soon changed. Presently the surface of the lake of fire had turned black, sure sign of an approaching eruption. Not a breath of air stirred. All nature was steeped in a profound hush. The very birds ceased to fly and flutter. Our horses trembled and manifested every symptom of fear. There was no time to be lost if we wished to save our lives. After a sharp ride we gained the slopes of a snow mountain. Here we waited for what soon came; shock after shock of earthquake. Rocks and stones detached themselves around us and rolled into the valley. Trees were uprooted. Then came a mighty, rus.h.i.+ng, hissing sound, as a sea of molten lava rolled down in many directions and spread over the plain.

Never shall I forget the grandeur, the awful majesty of the sight. We knew not how far it would reach or to what extent our lives were in danger. Dense volumes of smoke rose in the air, obscuring the sky.

Torrents of ashes fell far and wide. I thought of the fate of Herculaneum and Pompeii, scenes I had visited with my parents only a few years before. Was such a fate to be ours? We were almost choked with the smell of sulphur. Vegetation was scorched and burnt up under the terrible influence. It was a monster devouring all that came within its path. The poor monkeys in the cocoa-nut trees no longer thought of pelting us with fruit. They crouched and hid themselves in the branches, and understood the peril of their lives. I will not weary you with further description. Suffice it that we escaped, and when I again found myself in Honolulu, it was to bid the islands a long farewell.

"For a time there was no end to my wanderings. From Honolulu I went off in an American whaler to the coast of Labrador and shot bears as they drifted southward on icebergs coming from that mysterious and hitherto inaccessible North Pole. Once I spent a week with that curious little people, the Esquimaux, who inhabit the creeks of Labrador and live chiefly on the excellent fish abounding in those waters: waters so wonderfully tempered by the Florida stream. In my travels I have experienced the extremes of refinement on the one hand, of hards.h.i.+p on the other. But the latter has been my own choice, and this makes all things bearable. I once had a friend who went out to break stones on the road; work we give to our convicts; but he did it for pleasure and thought it delightful."

Once more Delormais paused as though in deep reflection. The silence in the room was only broken by the faint ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Outside not a sound disturbed the sleeping world. Not a breath stirred in all the corridors of the old palace that had seen better days. We waited until the spirit should move him again.

CHAPTER XI.

MONSEIGNEUR.

Great conflict--Returning to Paris--Count Albert married--Marriages declined--Love buried in the grave of Arouya--Frivolities--Napoleon at the Tuileries--Illness--Doctors' errors--Days of horror--Vow registered--Between life and death--Victory--Home again--Abbe's objections--Resolve strengthened--Death of the Abbe--Taking vows--Life of energy and action--Rapid sketch--Sympathies--All ordained--"Monseigneur"--"Mon ami"--Cry of the watchmen--Candles wax dim and blue--Wandering in dreams--False prophet--H. C. rises with the lark--Beauty of Gerona--Pathetic scene--Colonel administers consolation--Widow's heart sings for joy--In the cloisters again--Good-bye--In the cathedral--Anselmo--Suns.h.i.+ne over all--Miguel--On the ruined citadel--Anselmo's signal--A glory departs.

"I have told you of the great romance of my life," he presently continued. "Now let me tell you of its great conflict.

"After many wanderings I returned to Paris. Here the great world opened wide its doors to me. In a short time I was _l'enfant de la maison_ amongst all people worth knowing. Count Albert had married one of the most charming women in the great world. You can picture my welcome. Few days pa.s.sed but I spent some portion of my time with them. I was naturally sought after, my wealth and position rendering that inevitable. Fathers proposed marriage for their daughters after the French fas.h.i.+on, offering the bribe of large dowries. But they knew not my secret. All my love was buried in a quiet Algerian grave, within sight of the ever-sounding sea. I had never loved before; I should never love again. I shuddered at the idea of a mere _mariage de convenance_.

Love and love only could make the chains of matrimony bearable. Who could love again after such a love, such a marriage as mine?

"I soon felt the life of Paris feverish, enervating. There was no rest, or repose, or freedom about it. A wild series of frivolities succeeded each other: court ceremonies--Napoleon III. reigned at the Tuileries--b.a.l.l.s, receptions, the life of the clubs. I hated wine, yet indulged freely in it to help me through the days. I had not been made for this kind of life; all the better parts of my nature were being stifled. Still I went on from week to week, partly because I could not tear myself away from Albert and his charming wife.

"At last I fell ill of a nervous malady which prostrated my strength.

The doctors ordered brandy in large doses. They should rather have forbidden it. The day came when I saw that brandy was my master. I could not live without it. Nothing could exceed my horror when I made the discovery. Then the moral struggle began, and that my nature was strong only made the conflict more severe. But the evil was more physical than mental or moral and so far beyond my control.

"At length, almost in despair, sick of this frivolous, aimless life, I vowed to devote my days to the service of Heaven if I might be permitted to conquer.

"Again I fell ill, but this time of a malady for which all stimulant was forbidden. For weeks I kept my bed, part of the time hovering between life and death. Heaven was merciful. My vow had been heard, my prayer answered. When I recovered, the victory had been gained for me. I hated the very sight of all stimulant. From that hour nothing stronger than tea or coffee has pa.s.sed my lips.

"I left Paris and returned to my home in Provence. What delight, what repose, what charm I found there. Paradise had once more opened its gates. There, with the Abbe, I spent a whole year in calm and quiet retreat. Health and vigour of mind, strength of body, returned to me.

"But I did not forget my vow. The Abbe treated me to many an argument and disquisition upon the subject. He showed me the life of an ecclesiastic in all its lights and shadows; the sacrifice of domestic happiness it entailed; the constant self-denials if I would do my duty in the spirit as well as letter. He pointed out how by nature and position I was eminently fitted to take my part in the world; to marry; become the ruler of a little kingdom, as it were; the father of sons and daughters. He was growing old, he declared, and certainly in the last year had greatly changed. An expression on his face told me he was not far from heaven. He felt his own end approaching.

"All this only strengthened my resolve. If anything could have made me more in favour of a religious life, it was the quiet ecstasy with which he contemplated pa.s.sing to celestial regions. Nothing could be more saintly and beatific than his last days. He was in perfect happiness, and frequently said so. I was permitted to be with him when his eyes looked their last upon the world. I was the last object they rested on; my name was on his lips as his soul winged its flight to heaven. For the fourth time the hand of affliction was laid upon me. My last link with the world was severed. I stood alone.

"In due time I took upon myself the vows of the Church. Never for a moment had I contemplated the cloister. Mine must be a life of energy and activity. Whether it be a weakness or not, I have ever loved to command; to rule mankind; to have the ordering of things. There I feel in my element. I have a capacity for organisation which will not lie dormant. It has been my lot to have it more or less fully exercised.

With all humility, and giving the sole glory to Heaven, I may say that I have succeeded in every work or mission I ever undertook; advanced every cause in which I have been concerned. The great moral, the great secret of my life, is this: I have first of all been convinced of the soundness of my intentions; I have held decided views; I have never entered upon a single act of importance without first placing it under the guidance of Heaven, as Hezekiah went up into the Temple and spread the letter before the Lord. And then I have gone forward, nothing doubting. Paul may plant and Apollos may water in vain, if they trust to their own strength. That has been my rule and conviction through life. I have constantly endeavoured to have no will of my own; no personal ends and aims and prejudices; but to obey the great Master, whose I am and Whom I serve."

Here Delormais rapidly sketched his life in the Church. He described every office he had held in succession; the difficulties he had contended with; the evils he had suppressed; the reforms he had made; the manner in which he had once fought with and at length convinced the Consistory of Rome. Through all he spoke with the utmost humility, recognising himself an agent, not a princ.i.p.al to whom any credit was due.

Over this portion of his life we draw a discreet veil. It was disclosed under secrecy. Partly to prevent identification; partly because other names were inevitably introduced, some of which were as household words in the world of the French Church.

The time had pa.s.sed unconsciously. There was a singular charm and attraction about Delormais. His fine presence and high breeding, his animated way of talking and graphic powers of description, all carried you beyond yourself. Everything was forgotten but the man before you.

For the moment you were lost in the scenes he portrayed so vividly.

Underlying all, running through all like a fine silken warp, his sympathetic nature was evident. Strong, decided, commanding, loving to rule, he was yet singularly lovable. When was this ever otherwise where sympathy was the keynote of the disposition? He was a man to come to for advice and consolation. Broad-minded above all the small views and judgments of human nature, if he chastised with the one hand, he took care to heal with the other. No one need dread his condemnation. We had been so recently under the influence of both men it was impossible to help contrasting this strong, admirable nature with the calm, retiring, almost celestial beauty of Anselmo: each perfect in its way. We mentioned him to Delormais as a type.

"Ay, I know him well," he replied: "have known him always. The Canon who was his protector and left him a portion of his wealth, was one of my few intimate friends. A purer spirit than Anselmo's never breathed. He might be advanced to high places in the Church, but is better and happier where he is. In all my wide experiences I have never met his equal. Of course I know his story, and his love for Rosalie--hers for him: an idyll almost too perfect for earth. I know her well also, and all her saintliness. Such love and faith are rare: a consistency worth all the sermons that ever were preached. How different was my fevered love from theirs; my rash, unreflecting impulse in that Algerian paradise. And yet, Heaven be praised, nothing but good came of it. All is ordained; all is for the best if only our heart's desire is to do well. All comes right in the end. I have never known it otherwise. If ever I feel in the slightest degree discouraged, if ever my faith in human nature is unduly tried, I immediately think of these two saintly people, and courage revives."

Once more he paused, and seemed lost in thought. Whether it was given to Anselmo and Rosalie, or whether to retrospection, we could not tell. The clock ticked its faint warning of the pa.s.sing of time. All else was profound silence. But he soon roused himself to the present, and again turned to us with an expression in which humour was mixed with kindliness.

"And now," said Delormais, with that peculiar smile that had puzzled us at the beginning of our interview, "I am going to surprise you. Life is full of the strangest coincidences and combinations, which would be laughed to scorn in fiction. It is the unexpected which happens. You remarked some time ago that my palace would be known as a s.h.i.+ning light, if I ever were made a bishop. I shall never be made a bishop," he laughed, "and for this reason."

Here he quietly took an official-looking doc.u.ment out of a capacious side pocket, and placed it in our hands. It was an intimation of his elevation to the See of X.---- a place we knew by heart, and loved.