Glories of Spain Part 38

Poblet was some miles from Espluga, and we had to pa.s.s through the town on our way to the said carriage. It had been taken on trust, neither carriage nor donkeys being at the station.

The town lies at the foot of a towering hill. From the station you cross over a picturesque stone bridge dark with age, spanning the rus.h.i.+ng river. Standing on the bridge you look down upon a romantic ravine and valley, through which the river winds its course. On the further side you enter the town: a primitive out-of-the-world spot, as though it had made no progress in the last hundred years. The people correspond with their surroundings. The streets were narrow and irregular, and the virtue of cleanliness was nowhere conspicuous. Our landlord had well said that if we did not take our luncheon with us, we should take it with Duke Humphrey.

Nevertheless, there was that in Espluga which redeemed some of its disadvantages. Groups of houses with picturesque roofs and latticed windows: houses built without any attempt at beauty, yet beautiful because they belonged to a long-past age when men knew nothing of ugliness and bad taste. No one had thought it worth while to pull down these old nooks and remains and rebuild greater, or even adorn them with fresh paint. Consequently we saw them arrayed in all their early charm.

It seemed a very sleepy town, with little life and energy. People plied their quiet trades. Everything was apparently dying of inanition.

Our donkey-woman was an exception: comely and wonderfully good-tempered, with a surprising amount of energy. Not having succeeded in hiring her donkeys, she was not to be altogether outdone by the carriage-man, and insisted upon accompanying us through the town, to carry the basket and show us the way. The man had disappeared to make ready.

"You have made a mistake, senor, in not taking my donkeys. They are beautiful creatures; six grey animals, as gentle as sheep. As for the carriage he praises, I pity you. The road is fearfully rough. When you reach Poblet, you will have no breath left in your body. All your bones will be broken."

This sounded alarming; but we discounted something for disappointed ambition.

"Are these donkeys all your living?" we asked, already feeling a certain regret that we had employed the man and not the woman.

"Not quite, senor. And then, you know, we live upon very little. You would be surprised if I told you how few sous a day have sufficed me.

Hitherto I have lived at home with my mother and sisters, who do was.h.i.+ng. We have had that to fall back upon when my donkeys are not hired. It is lucky for me, since few people come at this time of the year: very few at any time compared with what you would imagine. The world doesn't know the beauties of Poblet. It languishes in solitude.

You will see when you get there. My beautiful donkeys!" she continued.

"I love them, and they love me. I have some strange power over all animals. They seem to know that I wish them well. The very birds perch upon my shoulders as I go along, if I stop and call to them."

"Where have you learned your charm?" we asked, much interested in the woman. The loud voice of the station had disappeared, and she now talked in gentle tones.

"Charm, senor? I never thought of it in that light. If it is a charm, it was born with me. It is nothing I have learned or tried to cultivate, for it comes naturally."

"Can you transfer the power to others?" asked H. C. "Really," he added in an aside, "if this woman were in a higher station of life I could quite fall in love with her. She must be made up of sympathy and mesmerism. What a mistake it was to hire that wretched scarecrow of a driver. Don't you think we might take the woman as a conductor and so combine the two?"

We ignored the question.

"No, senor," replied the woman of strange gifts; "I cannot give my power to anyone. But why do you call it a power? It is merely an instinct on the part of the animals, who know I wish them well and would take them all to my heart, poor dumb, patient, much-tried creatures. Shall I tell you how I came to keep donkeys? It was not my own idea. I did not go to them: they came to me. It is ten years ago now, when I was eighteen. I went out one Sunday evening in August all by myself. We had had a quarrel at home. My mother wanted me to marry a man I hated, because he was well-to-do. I said I would never marry him if there was not another man in the world. My sisters were all angry, and said that with one well married they would soon all get husbands. I was the youngest. At last I burst into tears, and told them they might all have him, but I never would. And with that, between rage and crying, I went off by myself out into the quiet country. I took the road to Poblet, and wandered on without thinking.

"At last I came in sight of Poblet, and felt it was time to turn back. I had recovered my calmness, for I reflected as I went along that they could not make me marry the man, and that their vexation was perhaps natural. We were poor and struggling: he was rich compared with us.

Well, senor, just as I turned I saw a beautiful grey donkey with a black cross on its back coming towards me across the plain. I thought it singular, for it was all alone, and I had never seen a donkey alone there before. There was something strange-looking about it. Evidently it has strayed, I thought, and must just stray back again. But with my love for animals I could not help stopping and watching. It came straight up to me, and put its nose into my hand, just as if it knew me. 'Where have you come from?' I said, patting its head. 'Your owner will be anxious.

You must go straight home.' But there it stood, and there I stood; and for at least five minutes we never moved.

"Then I felt it was ridiculous, and set off home. Will you believe, senor, that the animal followed me like a dog. I could not get rid of it. When I arrived home the donkey arrived with me. What could I do?

There was an empty stable next door, and I put it in there, thinking it would be claimed and perhaps I should get a small reward. The animal went in just as if the stable had been always its home. As I was leaving, it turned and looked at me, and said as plainly as possible, 'I hope you are not going to let me starve.' I went in and told them what had happened. 'It must be your lover who has taken the form of a donkey,' laughed my eldest sister. 'He knows you are fond of animals, Loretta, and has arranged this plan with the devil to make you like him.' 'I should soon prove the greater donkey of the two, if I allowed myself to marry him,' I retorted."

"Was the donkey never claimed, Loretta?"

"Senor, you shall hear. To sum up the story, the donkey never was claimed. We made every inquiry; we did all we could to find the owner; it was in vain; he never turned up, and to this day the donkey remains mine. People said he was a supernatural donkey, but of course I know better. The next thing was, how to make him earn his living, for I was determined never to part with him. Then the idea came to me to convey people to Poblet. The story got known, and sometimes at the station there would be quite a fight for Caro, as I called him. There is still.

It gave me a start, and now in that very stable I have six beautiful donkeys that could not be equalled. And they all love me, and answer to their names, and come when I call them. Whichever I call comes; the others don't stir."

It was a singular but by no means impossible story. As H. C. had said, there was a certain mesmeric influence about the woman to which the sensitive animal world might very probably respond.

"And your lover? You did not take compa.s.sion upon him?"

"No, senor," laughed the woman, with a decided shake of the head; "but one of my sisters did; the eldest, who had been the most angry with me.

And for the first six years they led a regular cat-and-dog life. Then he tumbled over the bridge into the river and was nearly drowned. He was saved, but his leg was broken and had to be taken off, and after that somehow his temper improved. My sister laughs and says she loves him better with his one leg than ever she did when he had two. She is welcome to him."

"But you," we observed, feeling the question a delicate one, "why have you never married? By your own confession you are twenty-eight."

The woman laughed and blushed. "The right man never came, senor, and I was in no hurry. I was quite happy as I was. Five men in this town asked me to marry them. I did not care for any of them. 'Will you love my donkeys?' I said to each. Not one of them said Yes; so I said No to all But now I have said Yes at last. And there he goes," she added.

A tall strong man with a plain but amiable and honest face crossed the road, and catching sight of the donkey-woman sent her a beaming nod and went on his way.

"You have chosen well, Loretta. He will make you a good husband."

"I think so," returned the woman, and evidently her heart was in the matter. "When I asked Lorenzo if he would love my donkeys, he said: Yes, a dozen if I had them. So I took him to the stables, and called Caro, and it came and put its nose into his hand just as it had done to me that very first evening at Poblet. 'You're the man for me,' I said: and that was our betrothal."

"And suppose Caro had turned his back upon him?" we inquired. Loretta blushed.

"Senor, I should have been angry with Caro: and I should have had compa.s.sion upon Lorenzo. But Caro had too much sense, and knew Lorenzo was to be its master. He is a carpenter, senor, and has a good trade.

There is your carriage already waiting."

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON OUR WAY TO POBLET.]

"Ah, Loretta, you should have told us this story before. We should not have refused your donkeys. It would be an honour to ride the wise and gentle Caro."

"Another time, senor. You will be coming again, then you shall have Caro, though twenty others fought for him. No one comes to Poblet once without coming a second time. You will see."

As Loretta had said, the carriage was waiting. The carriage, save the mark! If we had regretted the donkeys before seeing it, what did we do now? It was nothing but a country cart covered with a white tarpaulin, and a door behind about a foot square, through which we had to scramble to find ourselves buried in the interior. The whole concern was only fit for a museum of antiquities, like the Tarragona victoria. But the thing was done, and we had to make the best of it.

Pa.s.sing through the streets, we came upon more men pressing out the grapes. It was a much larger affair than that of Lerida, and the juice poured out in a rich red stream. Four strong men were at work.

We stopped the cart, struggled out of what Francisco called the cat-hole, and watched the process. It was a case of mutual interest. The men had their heads bound round with handkerchiefs. The thoroughfare was the end of the town, wide and cleanly. Altogether this was an improvement upon the Lerida wine-press, and when these men offered us of the juice in a clean goblet, we did not refuse them. This attention to strangers was evidently a peace-offering; a token of goodwill; and the loving-cup was cool, refres.h.i.+ng and delicious. Such must have been the true nectar of the G.o.ds.

"Almost equal to Laffitte," said H. C. "I don't know that I ever tasted anything more poet-inspiring. Let us drink to the health and happiness of the fair Loretta. Lorenzo is a lucky man."

With some genuine tobacco and a few cigars such as they had never seen or heard of, the men thought they had made an excellent exchange. We left them as happy as the G.o.ds on Olympus.

Soon after this we found ourselves in the open country. The roads were of the roughest: hard and dry, now all stones, now all ruts: some of the ruts a foot deep, into which the cart would sink to an angle of forty-five degrees. There were no springs to the cart; never had been any. It was stiff and unyielding, and evidently dated from the stone age. We did not even attempt to keep our seats, but flew about like ninepins.

"The Laffitte will be churned into b.u.t.ter," groaned H. C. spasmodically, feeling a general internal dislocation. "b.u.t.ter-wine. I wonder what it will be like. A new discovery, perhaps."

But the luncheon-basket was in comparative repose. How Francisco managed we never knew; habit is second nature; he neither lost his seat nor let go the basket. Never in roughest seas had we been so tossed about. The next day we were black and blue, and for a week after felt as though we had been beaten with rods.

At last after what seemed an interminable drive, but was really only some three miles, we turned from the main road and the common--evidently the scene of Loretta's donkey adventure--into a narrow, shabby avenue of trees. At the end appeared the outer gateway of the monastery, where we were too thankful to dispense with the cart and its driver.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE RUINS OF POBLET.

A dream-world--Ruins--Chapel of St. George--Archways and Gothic windows--Atmosphere of the Middle Ages--Convent doorway--Summons but no response--Door opens at last--Comfortable looking woman--Ready invention--Confusion worse confounded--True version--Francisco painfully direct--Guardian gets worst of it--Picturesque decay--Gothic cloisters--Visions of beauty--Rare wilderness--King Martin the Humble--Baccha.n.a.lian days--When the monks quaffed Malvoisie--Simple grandeur of the church--Philip Duke of Wharton--Cistercian monastery--History of Poblet the monk--Monastery becomes celebrated--Tombs of the kings of Aragon--Guardian sceptical--Paradise or wilderness--Monks all-powerful--Escorial of Aragon--The great traveller--Changing for the worse--Upholding the kingly power--Time rolls on--Downfall--Attacked and destroyed--Infuriated mob--Fict.i.tious treasures--Fiendish act--Ma.s.sacre--Ruined monastery--Blood-red sunset--Superst.i.tion--End of 1835.

Once within the gateway we were in a dream-world; a world of the past; a world of ruins, but ruins rich and rare.